New Blood: Measure of Humanity
by Michael Donovan
Summary: After rescuing a young woman, Angel is confronted by territorial vampires, vindictive hunters, and his own dark instincts.


NEW BLOOD: MEASURE OF HUMANITY   
WRITTEN BY: Michael K. Donovan   
Mike@vmp-canada.com   
  
Disclaimer: Angel and all the characters that appear on the show are the exclusive property of Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, the WB and Mutant Enemy, Inc.   
  
Special thanks to Christie, Judy and Gonzai who helped keep me inspired as well as on the straight and narrow path during this project.   
  
* * *   
  
Cordelia paced back and forth in agitation across the room. Like her, a dozen other actresses waited in tense eagerness for their call. Some recited lines from hand-held booklets, while others primped and preened before any available reflective surface. Cordelia couldn't be bothered with any of that at this late stage of the game. What she wanted was her audition. Now.   
  
A young, slight-framed girl with straight, jet-black hair crossed Cordelia's path with her head ducked, murmuring to herself and reading from a battered, folded-up script. Cordelia turned to avoid her, but the girl changed directions at the same time and the two collided. Cordy fell to the floor, knocking the other girl's script from her hands, and landing roughly on her rear.   
  
With a tried sigh, she rolled her eyes up at the girl.   
  
"If you don't mind, you could try signaling before you turn." She snapped in annoyance.   
  
"Oh," The girl looked startled, her cat-like, ice-blue eyes going wide with surprise as she stooped and offered out her hand, "I'm sorry. Guess I wasn't watching where I was going. I'm new around here."   
  
Cordelia declined the girl's hand and stood up on her own, brushing herself off.   
  
"No kidding." She observed dryly, checking her long skirt for marks, "You auditioning for the lead, too?"   
  
Cordelia looked her up and down appraisingly. She was prettier than most of the girls in the room, with exotically delicate features and soft, flawless, pale skin. But Cordelia wasn't particularly worried about her as competition. The girl was too short for the role, barely over five feet tall, and her fashion sense, while serviceable, was strictly 'last year'. And, of course, there was her apparently dazzling sense of balance to take into account.   
  
"Yeah, but I'm not really an actress." The girl confided, tucking her shoulder length hair behind her ears, "I'm just doing this to make a few bucks."   
  
"Yeah, me too." Cordelia smirked condescendingly then dropped her voice to a barely audible level, "Amateur."   
  
"What do you normally do?" the girl asked.   
  
Cordelia sighed tiredly. She didn't have time to be sharing her life story with every young hopeful in LA. But looking to the casting room door as another potential starlet went inside and closed it behind her, she reconsidered. Time looked like something she had in abundance at the moment.   
  
"I work for a private investigator." She said, reflexively digging a business card out of her purse and handing it to the girl, "Angel Investigations. You know, 'We help the hopeless'. What about you?"   
  
"I'm sort of between jobs right now." The girl accepted the card and held it up in front of her face, turning it around a few times and scrutinizing the printed logo, "Oh, wow," she smiled at last, "a bee!"   
  
"It is NOT a bee." Cordelia scowled, "It's an angel, as in 'Angel Investigations'?"   
  
"Oh. Right." The girl arched an eyebrow, "Very clever. Um, do you mind if I keep this?"   
  
"Sure, whatever floats your boat." She shrugged as the girl slipped the card into her pocket.   
  
The casting room door opened and the actress Cordelia had seen go inside came out. Her face was flushed and tears looked to be threatening in her eyes. She hadn't even been reading for two minutes.   
  
"Guess some people just don't have what it takes." Cordelia observed unsympathetically as the actress blindly rushed out of the room.   
  
After a moment, a professionally dressed assistant poked her blonde head out through the door and traced her finger down a list of names on a clipboard in her hand.   
  
"Chase, Cordelia?" she called.   
  
"Oh, that's me!" Cordy exclaimed excitedly, "Gotta go. Good luck."   
  
"Yeah, you too." The blue-eyed girl responded as Cordelia scurried through the casting room door and it closed behind her.   
  
The room was well lit, with a line of windows behind a row of four chairs that had been laid out side by side. Two men and a woman already occupied three of the chairs and the assistant took the empty seat at the end. One of the men was the film's director, she knew, and the woman was a local casting agent Cordelia had seen around a few times.   
  
"You'll be reading for the part of Belinda?" one of the men, a young, plain-faced man in a navy suit, asked, making a quick note on a pad in his lap.   
  
"What?" she replied in a brief moment of confusion, "Oh, um, yes, that's me, Belinda."   
  
The man shifted slightly in his seat, eyeing her with a discriminating eye that made a scalpel's edge seem dull.   
  
"Take it from the top of page eight, scene five." He directed as the assistant quickly brought her a fresh script opened to the proper page, "The shot where Belinda is begging the demon to leave her sorority sisters alone."   
  
"Right." She beamed, finding her place in the script.   
  
Raising a forearm to her head, she affected her best damsel-in-distress face.   
  
"Oh, please, Mister demon!" she recited dramatically, "Please don't hurt my sorority sisters! I'll do anything you want! Anything at-" she broke off in mid-sentence and scowled, "Okay, small question. How does this girl know the demon is bad?"   
  
"Excuse me?" the man in navy asked in bewilderment.   
  
"Well, why does she assume he's bad just because he's a demon?" She elaborated, "He might be a really great guy and she'd never know it. She really shouldn't be discriminating."   
  
The casting agent looked puzzled to the man that Cordelia assumed was the director. The man frowned slightly in consideration and stroked the snow-white stubble on his chin. Reading this as some kind of sign, the casting agent turned back to Cordelia.   
  
"However true that may be, the lines are as written." The woman told her crisply, "Now, if you please, from the top. And with more humanity this time."   
  
"Humanity?" Cordelia rolled her eyes in frustration, "What do I look like, a Clydesdale? I AM human!"   
  
The director nodded once, the most expressive movement she had seen from him so far, and waved his pen in the air.   
  
"Thank you, we'll be in touch." He informed her with a practiced expression of faux-interest, his indication that the reading was now over.   
  
"Dammit!" she stamped her foot sharply on the floor, "I didn't even get to finish the scene!"   
  
The director was unimpressed by the exclamation and ignored her, looking down the line to the assistant.   
  
"NEXT!"   
  
* * *   
  
The burly vampire narrowed his yellow, animal-like eyes and leaned with his back against the weathered brick wall, waiting impatiently for his brethren to arrive.   
  
At over a century, Bennett was one of the oldest of LA's vampires, as well as one of the most powerful. Of all the vampire barons who claimed a right to the unofficial throne of the city, his was the largest following and, because of it, he actually held a small measure of control over his peers.   
  
But there had been a new development in recent months, ripples in the undead hierarchy which threatened to undermine his authority with the others. Their tardiness was just an early sign of what could become mutiny if he didn't do something soon.   
  
"We're here Bennett." A deep voice rumbled from the shadows as a wiry, bearded vampire emerged into the wan moonlight. Behind him, a handful of others followed. "Make it quick."   
  
Bennett folded his arms across his chest and pushed off the wall.   
  
"Roberts, it's about time. I assume you've all heard the stories?" he asked gravely, "About the rogue?"   
  
The group replied with a scattering of uneasy murmurs and head nods. None of those present had met the rogue face-to-face, but they all knew who he was. The tales spoke of an old-world vampire whose power and cruelty had been unparalleled. But tragedy had struck when the great vampire had crossed paths with the Slayer. She had defeated him, but chose not to destroy him, instead inflicting a far more horrible punishment. She infected him with a soul.   
  
After that fateful night, the vampire became overwrought with guilt, of all things, and began hunting his former brethren. The being who had up until now, been an inspiration to his kind, had become a scourge to all creatures of darkness.   
  
"We've heard the stories." Roberts nodded with a sneer, "And that's all they are. No one has even seen this so called 'Angel'."   
  
"I have." Bennett told them flatly. The other vampire barons, Roberts included, were taken aback by his statement. Bennett hadn't actually seen Angel with his own eyes, but he knew without a doubt that the famed vampire existed.   
  
Vampires had ways of leaving messages for others of their kind, of marking territory and warning of the consequences of violating that territory. Bennett had seen signs that Angel was prepared to fight to claim Los Angeles as his own.   
  
A tall, blond, Nordic-looking vampire stepped ahead of the group and pursed his lips in disregard. Dorian was possibly the youngest of the assembled barons, but he had made quite a reputation for himself in the short time he had occupied his territory in the city. Whenever the older vampires looked over their shoulders, he was the one they were watching for.   
  
"I don't see what you're worried about." He chuckled derisively, folding his arms over his tight navy-blue shirt, "He's just one vampire. We rule the underworld in this city."   
  
"And he's here to take that from us." Bennett nodded, "He has allies, light-dwellers who know of our kind and how to deal with us. I hear they've all trained under the Slayer. If we don't do something now, then we may not get another chance."   
  
Bennett didn't want to admit it, but he was more concerned about this new threat than he cared to admit. Many months ago, Angel had apparently slipped unnoticed into the city and set up shop within the borders of Bennett's own territory. Since then, Bennett had lost more than a dozen minions trying to gather information about the rogue while at the same time keeping it hidden from the others until he could properly prepare.   
  
Unfortunately, after all his attempts, all he had learned about this soul-ridden vampire was that he seemed to be well-nigh impossible to defeat in battle, facing down threats that a small army would have found daunting. The one fortunate thing Bennett could say was that he had at least been able to keep his own existence a secret from Angel and his entourage. For now. But he wouldn't be able to depend on good fortune for long. Which is what had brought him here tonight.   
  
"There's a storm on the horizon, boys." He told the others, pressing his point home, "And we'll have to band together if we're going to survive it."   
  
"And you plan to lead this new coalition, I suppose." Another of the barons, a young, muscular street punk deduced suspiciously.   
  
Before Bennett could answer, another vampire strolled quietly up the alley toward them. Tall, with dark, spiky hair and deep yellow eyes, he didn't look like anyone Bennett was familiar with. The long, black coat he wore didn't immediately bring to mind any of the known clan colors.   
  
"Excuse me, guys? Hi." the newcomer approached casually, "I heard there was a gathering of all the top vampires around. So where do I sign up?"   
  
Bennett chuckled, raising his eyebrows, and looked questioningly to his peers. The assembled barons displayed dark mirth and those who had not already manifested their vampiric faces did so.   
  
"You've got guts, stranger." Bennett noted with a measure of patronizing respect, "What clan are you with?"   
  
"Clan?" Angel matched the man's stare with reserved surprise, "There's something you don't hear much about anymore. I thought clanning was an Old World thing."   
  
Bennett's eyes narrowed in annoyance and he folded his arms tightly across his thick chest.   
  
"I'm FROM the Old World." He declared with a growl, his patience at its limit, "Now answer me quickly. Who do you speak for?"   
  
The newcomer cocked his head and shrugged, unconcerned.   
  
"I speak only for myself." He answered steadily, "Keeps things from getting confusing that way. So you're the local big guns, huh?"   
  
The other barons flanked Bennett, not out of any feeling of camaraderie, but in recognition of a common enemy.   
  
"We are." Bennett nodded grimly, "What does it matter to you?"   
  
"Just needed to be sure." the unknown vampire smiled, raising his arms toward them, and instantly a warning chill shot up Bennett's spine.   
  
Bennett instinctively dropped onto his back, narrowly avoiding one of the two wooden stakes that shot from the stranger's sleeves. The vampire who had been standing next to him had not been so lucky. In an instant, a stake impaled him through the chest and he perished in a cloud of dust.   
  
As the other barons reacted with panic, Bennett scrambled to his feet, confused and distraught. The newcomer could be none other than the rogue whom he had called the other barons together to deal with. But he hadn't had enough time to prepare an attack. Now Angel had found them and launched an attack of his own.   
  
Two of the others reacted immediately, coming at Angel from opposite sides, but he was ready for them. Spinning away, he dropped low and swept the feet out from under one and lunged at the other, driving a stake upward into its heart. Without missing a beat, he yanked the wooden weapon free and buried it in the chest of the first vampire. Both exploded into clouds of ash almost simultaneously.   
  
The black-clad vampire continued on without a pause, grabbing another of the barons and stabbing him though the back.   
  
Bennett watched in shock as Angel's newest victim fell back, clutching a hole in his heart and fell into dust. In the span of thirty-five seconds, Angel had dispatched four of the assembled barons, all of them fine warriors in their own right. The surprise attack had given him a heavy advantage, but the assembly still outnumbered him.   
  
"Kill him!" Bennett roared in a desperate attempt to get his disorganized companions under control. If he could just restore some order, the rogue would be faced with and outnumbered by experienced and angry vampire opponents; he wouldn't stand a chance. But none of the barons trusted the others, scurrying helter-skelter and trying individually to destroy him.   
  
Their self-absorbed tactics were making them easy pickings for the disciplined hunter that had appeared so suddenly in their midst.   
  
A hollow shriek sounded and then went silent as Angel destroyed another vampire and turned purposefully, Angel's dark eyes fastened on Bennett. Desperately, Bennett caught the gaze of Dorian, the last of his surviving peers, and suggested with his eyes that they band together against the rogue. Against the two of them, Angel would be finished.   
  
Dorian looked to Bennett, to his advancing attacker and then back to Bennett again. With a short gesture of farewell, the blonde vampire dipped back into the shadows and clambered up a low-hanging fire escape ladder.   
  
Rage surged through Bennett's body. Betrayal! The fool Nordic bastard would rather flee and save his own worthless hide than tackle the problem head on and protect his future interests. No matter. Bennett hadn't become head of the clans by running away. He would deal with this rogue himself if need be.   
  
Angel advanced on him steadily, bearing the marks of more than a dozen attacks he had sustained fighting the others as well as a barely concealed limp in one leg but paying them no heed. His strength, resilience and cunning appeared to be everything the stories claimed them to be.   
  
Grabbing up a length of wood, Bennett jabbed for Angel's head with it and then switched tactics and snapped it down against his knee. Angel crumpled with a snarl of pain, holding his wounded limb, and leaving his head unprotected. Bennett capitalized, slamming his makeshift weapon into his opponent's temple. Angel fell and the vampire baron moved to stand over him, raising the wood and cracking it down again.   
  
"You're nothing!" he roared, pouring every ounce of anger he had into another blow, "You have no clan, you have no life! You aren't even a real vampire!"   
  
He pounded the wood into Angel's side.   
  
"You-"   
  
He raised his weapon and brought it down again, harder this time.   
  
"-and your worthless-"   
  
The wood cracked lengthwise as it connected with his back.   
  
"soul!"   
  
He continued to hammer the fallen vampire's body relentlessly, fueled by disgust and outrage. This rogue had slain all but two of the greatest vampires in LA. He had almost destroyed the city's delicate balance of power in a selfish bid for dominance all in the name of conscience. The mere concept sickened Bennett.   
  
Tiring, he reached down and hauled Angel to his feet with one hand, angling the splintered remains of his wooden weapon toward his heart with the other.   
  
"You're an impressive fighter, Angel." He snarled, slamming the weakened vampire up against the wall and holding him there, "But you never should have come alone."   
  
Bennett raised the sharpened jag of wood to strike and Angel stared him right in the eye, completely fearless.   
  
"I didn't." He smiled knowingly.   
  
The distant sound of an engine roared toward them down the alleyway and the dead-end filled with the bright glare of a searchlight. Bennett squinted over his shoulder into the light. A tall, young, black man stood in the back of a reconditioned pick-up truck behind what looked like something similar to a harpoon gun loaded with an array of sharpened wooden shafts.   
  
"Say cheese, Dustbag." The young man smiled cockily as he lined up the shot and let a shaft fly.   
  
Bennett screamed in denial as the impact took him clean off his feet, driving completely through his ribcage and heart before he was transformed into a dissolving column of ash.   
  
Angel staggered away from the wall and crouched over. After brushing the remains of his most recent opponent off his pant legs, he straightened slowly, shielding his eyes with his one hand as he looked to his benefactor.   
  
"Took you long enough." He commented dryly, "I thought you said eight o'clock?"   
  
The black man shrugged and smiled.   
  
"Got held up. A brother's got business, you know." He offered, "Besides, it looks like you had things under control."   
  
"I'd hate to see what you call out of control." Angel nodded appreciatively, "Thanks, Gunn."   
  
Gunn leaned over the side of the truck and offered out his hand.   
  
"Come on, man. Lemme give you a lift home."   
  
Gripping the young man's hand, Angel pulled himself up into the back of the truck.   
  
* * *   
  
Wesley wiped his feet perfunctorily on the mat outside the office and stepped through the doorway with a heavy book in his hands. The instant he shut the door behind him, he noticed Angel through the glass to his office, talking to Cordelia. He remembered that Gunn had come to him with information about some sort of vampire gathering earlier and agreed to meet him immediately after sundown. That had been less than two hours ago. Judging by Angel's early return, he speculated that the venture must have gone swimmingly.   
  
Angel stormed swiftly out of his office with Cordelia close behind, hounding him tenaciously.   
  
"Oh, come on!" Cordelia begged, "I'm not asking for that much."   
  
"I told you already, I can't!" Angel circled around her desk and put it between them as a barrier.   
  
She matched his maneuver and leaned forward, facing off with him from the other side, her hands pressed to the polished surface.   
  
"Look, it's not that big a deal." she insisted, "Women have needs. I'm just asking for a little help here."   
  
Wesley hastily pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, but kept quiet. Apparently, the two were so intent on one another that they had not taken notice of his arrival yet.   
  
"No." Angel stated, sinking down into a chair and turning toward the window to peer between the venetian blinds, "I can't help you. I have . . . issues."   
  
Cordelia rolled her eyes and snorted, "Oh, one silly little gypsy curse. Angel, this doesn't have anything to do with your 'perfect happiness'. This is about ME!"   
  
"Why me?" the vampire questioned her in frustration, "Why not Wesley?"   
  
Startled, Wesley jumped and took a sharp, unintentional step back, jarring against the door and dropping his book to the floor. Angel and Cordelia snapped their heads around, finally taking notice of him, and Wesley shifted uncomfortably under their combined gaze.   
  
"I, um, I just got here." he stammered an explanation, stooping to retrieve his book, his face flushing furiously, "I had no, um, had no idea the two of you were . . . occupied."   
  
Angel shrugged, unconcerned.   
  
"It's okay, Wesley. Your timing couldn't be any more perfect." He turned back to Cordelia, indicating the young Englishman with an outstretched hand, "Well, why not him? He's single."   
  
The redness in Wesley's face deepened and he dropped his gaze shyly to the floor, "That's very gracious of you both. But, truly, I-I understand that office romances can be quite tricky as well as-"   
  
"Get serious, Angel." Cordelia scowled at the vampire in exasperation, "This is the only hope I have of getting bumped up from being an extra to a real, speaking part."   
  
Wesley quelled the rest of his sentence and lifted his head.   
  
"Part?" he queried, lost.   
  
Cordy pressed her hand to her forehead in an attempt to massage away her stress.   
  
"Yeah, the casting director needs a date for the cast party tonight." She sighed and scowled in Angel's direction, "And Mister Doom-and-Gloom won't play along."   
  
He sat back in her chair and planted himself firmly, regarding her from under serious brows, "You know, insulting me really isn't helping your case any."   
  
"Angelll!" she whined piteously, clenching her hands in frustration, "Be reasonable. I deserve an opening credit!"   
  
He steepled his hands against his chin and sighed, "So then what's wrong with Wesley?"   
  
The former Watcher straightened proudly and smoothed the lapels of his coat with professional sharpness, "Yes, why not me? I'd be honored to lend a hand and accompany a lady of the arts."   
  
Cordelia folded her slender arms across her chest and rolled her eyes skyward.   
  
"Duh! I want a BETTER part," she explained tactlessly, "not a pink slip!"   
  
Wesley scowled and cleared his throat in dismay.   
  
"I'll have you know that a number of fine women have found me quite dashing!" he argued indignantly.   
  
Cordelia cocked her head in brief consideration, scanning him with her discerning eye.   
  
"Well, my friend Serena thought you were kind of cute." She tapped a well-manicured finger against her lip in thought.   
  
"Really?" Wesley brightened somewhat, mollified.   
  
"Yeah," she nodded, rising and pulling the coffee carafe from the machine to pour herself a fresh cup, "but then, she also thought you were gay."   
  
"Oh." He let his shoulders sag, crestfallen.   
  
She dropped a scoop of sweetener into the steaming cup, then blended in a splash of cream.   
  
"Besides, Catherine specifically asked for you, Angel." She mentioned offhandedly, raising the coffee and blowing gently across its surface.   
  
Angel bounced sharply to his feet.   
  
"And just how did CATHERINE get my name?" he asked, irritation in his voice.   
  
"Oh!" she jumped anxiously around, taking a careful sip from her cup and fanning it with her hand, "Um, you know, that's funny. She must have been talking to Oliver. You know, Oliver?"   
  
Angel scowled and a flash of memory flooded his senses. He was standing in the middle of a crowded party, feeling completely uncomfortable and out of place. Out of nowhere, a short man wearing round, wire-framed glasses with close-trimmed gray hair and a salt-and-pepper goatee approached him and handed him a business card.   
  
"I'm Oliver." The man stated, as if the words alone should have been enough to explain, "Ask anyone about Oliver. I'm a fierce animal. I'm your agent as soon as you call me."   
  
Angel suppressed a shudder and snapped back to reality.   
  
Cordelia took his expression as a warning that his patience was growing thin. Seating herself across from him, she prepared her best penitent face.   
  
"Okay, I let your name slip once or twice." She admitted sheepishly, "And I MAY have shown her a picture. You know that one we snapped of you when you almost smiled that time? Now THAT was a Kodak moment."   
  
Scratching his head thoughtfully, Wesley set his book aside and took a seat.   
  
"Forgive me if I'm being presumptuous," he began, "but doesn't this smack somewhat of bribery? Not to mention a shade or two of male harlotry."   
  
"Oh, lighten up." Cordelia scolded, "All he has to do is put on a tux and look pretty for a few hours while I work my charm." She turned to Angel imploringly, "Is that really so much to ask?"   
  
The vampire frowned and folded his arms across his chest, a troubled line forming between his brows.   
  
"Alright," he relented, "Three hours. But that's it."   
  
Cordelia squealed in delight and ran around the desk, throwing her arms around his neck and squeezing tightly.   
  
"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!" she danced excitedly on the spot, "You are SO not going to regret this, Angel, I promise! Catherine is PERFECT for you!"   
  
Angel sighed and turned his gaze to Wesley, uncertainty and doubt obvious in his eyes.   
  
* * *   
  
The half-demon bartender swabbed at the inside of a glass mug with a thick cloth, absently watching the scattered non-human patrons in the murky establishment. A single line of fluorescent tubes and a few neon signs behind the bar illuminated a portion of the expansive room with eerie, bluish light, casting the rest into shadow. It was meant to be that way. Creatures of darkness weren't big on a lot of exposure.   
  
The back entrance flew open and thudded back against the wall, casting a dusty beam of artificial light into the room. A tall figure stepped into the beam, cutting a stark shadow, silhouetted against the brightness. Most of the patrons took note of the new arrival with caution and some prudently went for the front exit.   
  
The man in the doorway stepped inside and two other, smaller men followed, flanking him. The tall man's boots clunked heavily against the hard, wooden floor as he slowly strolled along the length of the bar, his hard, gray eyes scanning the room.   
  
All three men wore trenchcoats, the leader in tan, the other two in charcoal gray. The tall man approached the bar and leaned forward, planting his large hands flat against the stained wood, while his companions turned their backs to him, keeping watch over the rest of the establishment.   
  
The bartender froze under the man's intense scrutiny, nervously moistening his lips and swallowing. The majority of his patrons were regulars, none of them troublemakers, but vampires and demons tended to be territorial by nature. Hours ago, some of the most powerful vampires in the city had been collectively exterminated and not a single voice had yet arisen alleging responsibility. A watering hole like his modest tavern would make the perfect venue for a set of cocky newcomers to stake a public claim.   
  
"W-What can I do ya f-for?" he stammered, setting the freshly cleaned glass under the bar with a shaky hand.   
  
Briefly, he considered grabbing the wooden cross he had stashed there for emergencies, but decided not to. The three before him looked like tough customers and he figured that if the time came for him to be reaching for a weapon, it would already be too late.   
  
One side of the tall man's mouth twitched upward in a disdainful smirk and his eyes narrowed.   
  
"My name is Christian Kincaid. These men are my associates, Noah and Solomon." He stated evenly, "And what you can . . . DO me for is supply me with information."   
  
While the man's British accent was not what he had been expecting, the bartender relaxed somewhat, feeling a little safer on more familiar territory. Information was something he could handle.   
  
"I know a lotta things." He alluded, careful to maintain the fine line between revealing too much and angering the client with a cryptic response, "But information ain't cheap."   
  
The tall man nodded acceptingly and slipped a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill out of his pocket, dropping it on the bar in front of him. The bartender stared wide-eyed at the bill, but hesitated to reach for it. The money was far more than he had been expecting, but he had to play it cool. Reaching for the cash too soon would just be looking to get his hand taken off.   
  
"So what kinda information ya lookin' for?" he inquired, settling down into a formal, business-like manner.   
  
"We're hunters." Kincaid nodded slightly, sliding the flat of his right hand forward and lifting it to reveal a photograph of a dark-haired, blue-eyed girl, "Looking for prey."   
  
* * *   
  
Angel tugged at the tight bowtie encircling his throat and shifted uncomfortably. The cast party was turning out to be even worse than he had anticipated. He'd had no idea that there were so many levels of shallowness in LA, but he was rapidly learning. So far, the people he had been introduced to had only looked at him in one of two ways: as a potential money-making flash in the pan, or, even more degrading, a flash in the bed. He couldn't have been less interested in either prospect.   
  
As a group of partygoers dressed in tuxedos and designer gowns passed by him, Catherine the casting director drew a quick sip from a fluted champagne glass and gestured to her small entourage of listeners.   
  
"And so I told her, Demi, where do you think you are, darling, Broadway?"   
  
The gathering of ornamental people answered her with a practiced chorus of painfully obvious phony laughter.   
  
Angel shrank back unintentionally, doing his best to preserve a mask that could at least possibly be interpreted as interest, for Cordelia's sake. Catherine didn't seem to care, as long as he continued to look good and stay quiet, and everyone knew he was there with her.   
  
Before she could get started on another longwinded anecdote, Angel cleared his throat uncomfortably and cut in.   
  
"Ah, Catherine," he tapped her arm to get her attention, "I'm just going to duck out for a minute for some air, okay?"   
  
The woman leered drunkenly and leaned into him, patting him condescendingly on the cheek.   
  
"Alright dear," she allowed with a haughty sigh, her breath heavy with the stink of expensive champagne, "but hurry back. We're going to make a round with the Schlotskis and dissect the talent. I want to show you off some more."   
  
Deftly dodging her groping hands, Angel slunk toward the back of the room, away from the annoying press of two-dimensional people, and covertly checked his watch. Only thirty minutes left before his three-hour obligation would be met, and then he could return to the comforting darkness of his apartment and relax. He found the sliding glass door and slipped outside, closing it behind him. Leaning his back against the wall, he let the tension ease out of his muscles and breathed a sigh of relief.   
  
"Running for cover?" a wry female voice asked.   
  
Angel started and his head snapped up. A young woman wearing a black, ankle-length sheath dress stood in the darkness of a shallow alcove, drawing absently on a cigarette. She was small, barely over five feet tall, with pale, flawless skin and slender, well-toned limbs. Straight, shiny hair hung around her face like filaments of black silk, and equally dark lashes framed a pair of ice-blue eyes. The girl was beautiful, but there was something more, a familiarity about her that Angel could not place.   
  
"You might say that." He answered with a beleaguered smile, "Social gatherings aren't really my usual pastime."   
  
"No kidding." The girl smirked in agreement, taking another long draw on her cigarette and blowing the smoke off to the side, "I think my ass picked up more fingerprints than the entire L.A.P.D. tonight. If I didn't need the money, I'd tell every one of those stuck-up bozos to shove it and split."   
  
Angel smiled at her refreshing candor. If he had been connected to the casting agent in any real way, she would have just put herself out of a job. But he got the impression that she wasn't overly concerned about that possibility.   
  
"You look familiar." She tilted her head up at him, scrutinizing him cannily, "I think I've seen your face before."   
  
Angel raised his eyebrows in surprise, "What, is Cordelia spreading my picture all over?" He introduced himself with a reserved smile, offering out his hand, "I'm Angel."   
  
"Angel?" she flicked her cigarette to the ground and stepped on it with a dainty, high-heeled shoe before accepting his handshake, "As in Investigations? Bet half the people inside would have kittens if they knew there was a P.I. at the party. You keeping tabs on somebody's ex-wife or something?"   
  
"No." he released a small, tired sigh, "I'm doing a favor for a friend. She's hoping I can help her make points with the casting director."   
  
The girl looked him over appraisingly and whistled long and low, under her breath.   
  
"She might be on to something." She arched a fine eyebrow and smiled appreciatively, "If I had a guy that looked like you in my corner I might actually have a real part now instead of being stuck as 'naïve girl number three'."   
  
He accepted the compliment in awkward silence, the warmth of a recent infusion of animal blood rising to his face. God, when was the last time he had let a casual comment affect him like that? Ducking his head, he hid the slight evidence of vulnerability by rubbing at his eyes as if he was tired.   
  
"If I can't survive the next half-hour with Catherine, I'll probably cause more harm than good." He shrugged ruefully, "Especially since she seems to think she's entitled to more of me than just an arm to hold on to."   
  
The girl shrugged and chuckled, stepping out of her alcove and flicking her dark hair carelessly over her shoulder.   
  
"I like you, Angel." She observed amiably, looking up at him, "You're down to earth, but there's still enough mystery behind you to keep things interesting."   
  
She stopped in mid-motion and her gaze focused on a point behind him.   
  
"Oh, damn." She whispered with a nervous swallow.   
  
Angel pivoted and followed her eyes inside to the party. A tall man with sandy-blonde hair and dressed in a tuxedo leaned with his back against the wall opposite the door. Unlike the other guests, this man was not socializing or looking to network and make contacts. He just leaned against the wall, still as a statue, scanning the room with careful observance. As his eyes fell on Angel, he ceased the sweeping of his head, staring piercingly through the glass at him.   
  
Angel matched the man's expression steadily, a foreboding chill crawling down his spine. He had never seen the man before but he knew, without a doubt, that he was trouble. The door slid open suddenly and Cordelia poked her head out, distracting his attention.   
  
"THERE you are!" she scolded, latching tightly onto his arm, "Angel, hiding out here isn't helping my career any. Catherine's been looking for you."   
  
"I wasn't hiding." He rebutted quickly, "I was just talking for a minute."   
  
Cordelia quirked her eyebrows and looked back and forth confusedly.   
  
"I know you like your alone time, but at your age, maybe talking to yourself isn't the best habit to be getting into, you know?"   
  
"What?" he swung back around to face the alcove only to find it empty.   
  
The girl had disappeared with only a crushed cigarette butt on the ground remaining as evidence of her presence.   
  
"Come on." Cordy tugged insistently on his sleeve, "Make one more pass around the room with Catherine and I'll let you bow out gracefully, okay?"   
  
Angel reluctantly allowed her to drag him back inside, casting one last glance over his shoulder at the empty alcove.   
  
* * *   
  
Wesley waited impatiently behind the wheel of Angel's car, checking his watch again. He had arrived in front of the lavish townhouse at the appointed time, just as Angel had requested, but neither he nor Cordelia were anywhere to be seen.   
  
The book he'd brought with him wasn't doing much to relieve the boredom. When he had volunteered to help out, he had envisioned himself on the arm of some glamorous movie star, not waiting outside like someone's personal chauffeur. The least Cordelia could have done was found a way to get him in. Even spending a night as a hanger-on had to be more exciting than boning up on demonic migration patterns. With a frustrated sigh, he flipped the book closed on the seat next to him. What could be taking them so long?   
  
The sound of sharp, quick footsteps echoed down the long walkway as Angel stormed along the fitted bricks, frustration obvious on his face. Cordelia rushed up behind him, waving her arms animatedly.   
  
"I can't believe we're leaving." She remarked.   
  
"Three hours, Cordelia." He grumbled over his shoulder, "That's all I promised."   
  
"But what about the post-party party?" she pleaded, "Catherine's been hinting that she might be willing to reconsider my role. I think she likes you."   
  
Angel stopped dead in his tracks and whirled around, pointing the tip of his finger just under her nose.   
  
"THAT woman had her hands in places I wasn't even sure I still had!" he snapped, "She knows more about what's in my pockets than I do. If I spend ONE more minute near her, I won't be responsible for what happens."   
  
Instead of backing down from his vehemence, Cordelia smiled, her face lighting up with cunning inspiration.   
  
"That's it!" she beamed excitedly, "You could scare her! Put on the old GRR-face and make her give me a better part. Belinda is the starring role in case you're wondering."   
  
He stared at her, silent and unmoving in disbelief for a moment, then turned on his heel and put his back to her.   
  
"Get in the car." He commanded tersely.   
  
"Alright, alright!" she sighed, rolling her eyes and throwing her hands into the air, "Geez, I was just trying to think creatively."   
  
Wesley snickered quietly as Angel held the door open for her and she climbed into the back seat. Slumping into the passenger seat, the vampire closed his eyes and leaned his head back.   
  
"I trust you both had a satisfactory evening?" Wesley inquired smugly as he turned the key in the ignition and the engine purred to life.   
  
Maybe next time they would think twice before leaving him out of another glamorous social gathering.   
  
Angel's eyes cracked open and he tilted his head tiredly toward him.   
  
"Just drive, Wesley."   
  
As Wesley pulled out onto the street and merged into traffic, Angel leaned against the door and stared absently. Compared to tonight, he would have gladly taken on a bloodthirsty demon or two, a whole nest even. The one brief period of normalcy he had experienced during the evening had been outside with the blue-eyed girl. Until she had mysteriously disappeared, that is. The face of the man who had apparently set her off came back to him, intense and disturbing, and he wondered briefly where she had gone.   
  
They turned down an empty side street on the way back to the office and Angel spotted a familiar figure walking in a straight line down the sidewalk. Even with a stylishly fitted, calves-leather jacket closed tightly over her dress, he recognized her. It was the girl from the party, he was sure.   
  
Behind her, a tall man in a long, tan trenchcoat advanced unseen, a suspicious looking bulge in his pocket. With a smooth motion, he reached into his coat and withdrew a small-caliber handgun.   
  
"Stop the car." Angel commanded, his eyes never leaving the endangered girl.   
  
"What?" Wesley asked, then reacted quickly when he sighted the scene.   
  
Whipping the wheel around hard, he swerved toward the curb, tires squealing. As the man in the trenchcoat took aim at the girl's back, Angel hopped up on the edge of the car door and dove, not waiting for the vehicle to come to a halt.   
  
He caught the man around the shoulders with an outstretched arm and slammed him into the wall of a nearby building. The gun went flying out of the man's hand and discharged a small, red-fletched dart as he kicked away from the wall and jumped quickly to his feet.   
  
Angel circled him warily and unbuttoned the jacket of his tuxedo, whipping it off and tossing it aside. He recognized his opponent instantly as the sandy-haired man from the cast party. He must have followed the girl from there.   
  
The girl looked uncertainly between the two men and slowly backed away. Angel stayed between her and his opponent long enough for Cordelia to catch her by the arm and usher her behind the cover of the car.   
  
"Stay out of this!" the tall man snarled, glaring at Angel with dark gray eyes while dropping his coat and exposing rows of blue tattooed runes covering the length of both forearms, "It's none of your business."   
  
"It IS my business." Angel growled warningly, "She's a friend."   
  
He leaped forward, stuffing a carefully pulled punch into the man's gut, exerting only enough force to knock the wind out of him without doing any serious damage.   
  
Unexpectedly, the man did not go down, instead shoving Angel away with impressive strength and smashing a fist into his jaw. Angel took the blow stoically. It hurt, but not seriously enough to slow him down. Snagging the blonde man's wrist, he wrenched it hard and slammed him back, pinning him to the wall by the throat.   
  
"I'll make this easy on you." The vampire warned, "Leave the girl alone and I'll only knock out enough teeth to put ONE of your dentist's kids through college."   
  
The man's lip curled arrogantly and he held Angel's eye unwaveringly with steely gray eyes. Angel heard a short gasp of surprise behind him from Cordelia as he felt the cold metal barrel of a gun press against his temple.   
  
"Let him go." A british-sounding voice commanded calmly.   
  
Damn it. Accomplices. He should have been more alert. While a bullet to the head probably wouldn't kill him, he wasn't entirely certain he wanted to find out for sure. Either way, the pain would no doubt be excruciating.   
  
Reluctantly, Angel released the tattooed man and stepped back, raising his hands slowly into the air. A young, wiry man with short, dark hair kept a shining pistol trained on him as he moved.   
  
"Impeccable timing, as always, Solomon." The tattooed man congratulated his companion, rubbing at his throat and stepping away from the wall, "And Noah?"   
  
A second man emerged from the shadows, this one slightly taller than the first, with a lean, solidly-muscled frame and a sandy goatee. His jaw jutted in challenge, the man leveled a snub-nosed shotgun at waist height.   
  
"Right here." He assured the leader confidently.   
  
Solomon nodded gravely and adjusted his position to put Cordelia and Wesley as well as the black-haired girl from the party in his sights.   
  
The tattooed man retrieved his gun and joined his companions, aiming the weapon at Angel.   
  
"As I've already said, this has nothing to do with you, stranger." He indicated Angel's car with a flick of his wrist, "Now get in your car, drive away and forget this ever happened."   
  
Wesley and Cordelia looked expectantly to their employer while the blue-eyed girl looked ready to bolt, her eyes filled with fear.   
  
Angel pursed his lips and sighed, raising his hands in surrender.   
  
"Fine." He shook his head slowly and started toward the car, his eyes downcast, "I was just looking to help someone in trouble, not get shot."   
  
Cordelia turned to a bewildered Wesley, her eyes wide, and silently mouthed the word 'WHAT?!'.   
  
"Good thinking." The tattooed man smirked arrogantly, "Take your friends, too."   
  
"Hm?" he lifted his head absent-mindedly, subtly drifting closer to Solomon's gun hand, "Oh, yeah, Cordelia-"   
  
Whirling in mid-sentence, he chopped his arm down over the handgun and kicked back into the leader's chest, slamming his fist up under the goateed man's chin.   
  
"Go! Get in the car!" he shouted, shoving Solomon into a battered dumpster and driving his foot into Noah's stomach.   
  
As the tattooed man scrambled to his feet, Wesley grabbed the black-haired girl by the arm and guided her into the back seat of the car, jumping behind the wheel and gunning the engine. Cordelia hopped in next to her and leaned over the side toward Angel.   
  
"Come on!" she called, as all three men piled on him at once.   
  
Noah clubbed him over the head with a doubled fist while Solomon locked his hands around the vampire's throat. Struggling to escape, Angel chopped his first attacker in the throat and sent Solomon tumbling to the sidewalk with a solid kick to the chest. He backhanded the tattooed man and broke into a run, vaulting over the door of the already-moving car and landing neatly in the front passenger seat.   
  
Wesley wasted no time and planted his foot to the floor, peeling away with a squeal of tires and smoking rubber and leaving the girl's attackers far behind.   
  
The girl turned herself backward in her seat, kneeling up and staring in bewilderment at the men as they rapidly shrank into the distance. With a long, stressful sigh, she slid around down below the level of the seat, pressing her back into the pliant leather interior.   
  
Cordelia smiled across at her from a similar position, blowing a wispy tendril of hair up off her face.   
  
"So, great party, huh?"   
  
* * *   
  
Angel entered swiftly through the door of the office and Wesley rushed to gallantly hold it open for the black-haired girl. As soon as she was through, Wesley darted in behind her and let the door swing shut. Cordelia caught it just an instant before the edge hit her, scowling in annoyance.   
  
Once inside, Angel gravitated to the shadows, agitatedly frowning and stroking his chin in serious thought. His blood was still pumping from the fight. He had been able to keep his feral face from showing, concealing his nature from the girl, but it had not been easy. In some ways, fighting demons was easier than fighting humans.   
  
"Hey, pretty nice digs." The blue-eyed girl commented, carefully lifting a pristine, ornate axe from its wall bracket and holding it up with interest, "You worried about invading Normans?"   
  
"I'm not big on solicitors." Angel quickly took the weapon from her and placed it back where it belonged.   
  
Wesley pulled out a chair and gestured for the new girl to sit.   
  
"Here, have a seat, please." He grinned foolishly, hovering attentively over her, "Miss . . .?"   
  
"Black. But call me Ariel." The girl clarified, opening her jacket and easing down into the chair with an amused smirk, "Thanks."   
  
"Is there a . . . Mister Black?" he queried, trying and failing to appear nonchalant.   
  
"Yeah." She smirked, watching as his hopeful expression fell, "He's my grandfather."   
  
Cordelia crossed the room, hobbling on a crooked heel, and plunked down tiredly into another chair, pulling off the shoe and vehemently rubbing the sole of her foot.   
  
"Well, here's to yet another perfect evening." She groaned, "I didn't make a single contact at that party. And then THIS happens." She sighed sadly, holding her shoe up by its broken heel, "These were European. Hand-made!"   
  
Angel let his gaze rest on her silently for a moment before he turned about and leaned against the edge of her desk, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.   
  
"This wasn't a random attack." He reasoned, "Any idea why these men were after you, Ariel?"   
  
"Who knows?" she shrugged, watching him from her chair, "Maybe stalking no-name actresses is the 'in' thing nowadays."   
  
Angel's pensive expression deepened.   
  
"You sure?" he posed, "It seemed like you recognized the taller one at the party tonight."   
  
Ariel snorted and shook her head, tucking the inky black, silken strands of her hair behind her delicate looking ears.   
  
"Naw," she denied, "I just caught him checking me and figured he was looking to help renegotiate my contract."   
  
Cordelia sat back and started rubbing at her other foot, nodding in disapproving agreement as Wesley cocked his head with a frown of confusion.   
  
"Renegotiate?" he queried, lost, "I thought only the casting director had control of such things."   
  
Cordelia shook her head in exasperation and rolled to her feet, strolling over to the coffee machine and pouring a cup.   
  
"Casting couch vulture." She commented knowingly, adding one dollop each of cream and sugar while stirring briskly.   
  
"Yeah," Ariel agreed with a wry chuckle, pulling out the front of her dress and looking down, "Anything for a peek of fresh, young flesh."   
  
"How utterly atrocious!" Wesley exclaimed, his eyes straying unintentionally to the slight display of cleavage.   
  
Ariel looked up at him and raised her eyebrows.   
  
"Oh, um, his behavior, I mean." Flushing furiously, he backed off and cleared his throat uncomfortably, tugging at the collar of his shirt.   
  
Angel kept his attention focused on the girl, his face still stern and serious.   
  
"Until we find out who these men are, you'll be safer here." He told her.   
  
Ariel rose quickly and stepped around behind the chair, putting it directly between her and him.   
  
"It's not that I don't appreciate the offer, but I'm cool." She declined easily, directing a short wave to Angel and Wesley before heading for the exit, "I can take care of myself."   
  
Cordelia leaned her back against the door and stopped the girl, her eyebrows raised in bemusement.   
  
"No good," she shrugged, offering out the fresh coffee, "in case you haven't noticed, our fearless leader has a hero complex."   
  
Ariel looked skeptically over her shoulder to Angel, "And I suppose I'm the damsel in distress?"   
  
The vampire nodded and pushed off from the desk, approaching the metal-caged elevator.   
  
"Call it what you want, but this isn't much of a fairy tale you've stumbled into. It's serious." He punched the button, bringing the mechanism up to the ground level, "You'll be safer downstairs tonight."   
  
"Guess I haven't got much choice then." She remarked blithely, accepting the coffee cup from Cordelia and tilting her head toward the elevator door, "What's downstairs?"   
  
"Angel's apartment." Cordy answered knowingly, folding her arms across her midsection, "It's nowhere near the Ritz, but it's about as safe as you can get."   
  
Wesley jumped up and straightened his coat, hefting a well-used crossbow in his hands.   
  
"Yes, quite right." he declared proudly, "We'll sit up all night to protect you if we must. No need to worry. We have extensive experience with these sorts of dealings."   
  
Cordelia eyed him with arch disbelief and sighed, rolling her eyes.   
  
"Take it easy, Rambo," she chided, "She'd probably be safer sharing a room with Godzilla than with you stumbling around in the dark with a projectile weapon."   
  
Ariel covered a chuckle with her delicate hand and Angel regarded the former Watcher seriously.   
  
"Are you volunteering?" he questioned.   
  
"Certainly." Wesley replied without hesitation, a self-conscious tinge of pink rising to his cheeks as he shot a quick glance in the new girl's direction.   
  
The vampire nodded short agreement and stepped across the elevator entrance, pulling the door aside and looking down at Ariel.   
  
"I'll take you down and get you set up." He offered, "You can stay in my bed."   
  
Ariel hesitated, setting her cup down and backing off a step.   
  
"Whoa, hold on there, cowboy." She raised her hands and eyed him skeptically, "You may have saved my life tonight, but don't go thinking that entitles you to a round of full contact gratitude."   
  
"Okay then, I'll take the bed." He shrugged, turning to Cordelia, "Cordelia, show her where the spare linens are, please?"   
  
Cordelia agreeably stepped inside and raised wry, questioning eyebrows at Ariel.   
  
Ariel looked back at her, her mouth hanging open in surprise, then closed it, frowning in confusion at Angel. She raised her hand as if to speak but stopped, wordlessly choosing to join the other girl in the elevator instead.   
  
Wesley pulled off his jacket and folded it over his forearm, moving to follow her.   
  
"I'll set up a cot in the kitchen, then," he announced, taking a place between the girls, "keep watch."   
  
Cordelia leaned forward slightly and looked across at Ariel, "Yeah, but what are you going to be watching?"   
  
Angel reached in and hooked his hand around Wesley's elbow, urging him back out into the main room.   
  
"Save it for later." He indicated, shoving the door closed and punching the down button, "We need to go over some of the financials before you go."   
  
"Wh-what?" the Englishman stammered, watching with dismay as the elevator slowly dropped into the floor and Cordelia waved goodbye with exaggerated sweetness, "Financials?"   
  
The instant the girls were out of sight, a phonebook thumped into his chest, jarring his attention just in time for him to catch it in his hands and keep it from hitting the floor.   
  
"I need you to contact any Watcher informants you still have." Angel said in a firm, business-like manner, walking past him and scanning a line of occult books that were shelved in the back, "Try and get an identity on our guy with the tattoos."   
  
Wesley cocked an eyebrow and adjusted his glasses curiously.   
  
"You've got a feeling on this?" he inquired.   
  
"Yeah," the vampire answered darkly, selecting one the books with his brow knitted in thought, "He fights too good to just be human."   
  
* * *   
  
Christian stormed into his hotel room, slamming the door back on its hinges, with Solomon and Noah close behind. Smashing his fist against the light switch, he filled the room with dull, yellow radiance. The wallpaper was old and dull, a neutral flower pattern that did little to break the monotonous decor of the sparsely-furnished room. The accommodations were certainly not high-class, but served the needs of the three well enough.   
  
They entered and immediately split up, each to his own small measure of territory in the room.   
  
While Solomon slipped into the cramped bathroom and Noah took a seat on the foot of one of the beds, Kincaid went immediately to the window and planted his fists, knuckle-down on the sill, glaring angrily out through the glass.   
  
"I can't believe this." He growled in frustration, "I had her. I HAD her! Until HE interfered."   
  
Solomon held his aching jaw and eyed the swelling injury in the mirror.   
  
"That man had a hook like Lennox Lewis." He commented with a wince, gingerly touching a rapidly darkening bruise along his smooth, hairless jawline, "Any idea who he was or why he leapt to our target's rescue?"   
  
Noah dropped a full clip out of a shining handgun and let it fall onto the bed.   
  
"I think it's obvious, don't you?" he closed one eye and sighted experimentally down the gun, "She's hired a guardian."   
  
"A guardian that took down all three of us." Kincaid reminded his allies pointedly.   
  
"Should we forget about the girl for now?" Solomon wondered, "At least until we deal with him first?"   
  
"Absolutely not." Kincaid refused sharply, "We've got less than two days to take her out. The man is not important. If he continues to get in our way, he will be dealt with."   
  
The two other men looked to him apprehensively. They both realized the seriousness of this new development as well as the measures that would have to be taken to deal with it. Kincaid mirrored their thoughts, pulling a small metal box and a leather-bound book out of a travel bag and tossing them to Solomon.   
  
Wordlessly, he turned his back to them and let his trenchcoat drop to the floor. Peeling his shirt off over his head, he knelt down and placed his palms flat against his thighs. His body was lean and tightly muscled, the result of years of diligent physical training, with a series of evenly-spaced, blue tattooed runes covering his forearms like medieval armbands.   
  
"Start at the waist." Kincaid commanded with steady conviction.   
  
Straightening his spine, he waited patiently for Solomon to begin the procedure.   
  
The dark-haired young man crouched behind him and laid the book open on the floor. Opening the metal box, he withdrew a fine-tipped silver tine and a glass vial filled with a sparkling blue liquid. With a nervous swallow, he carefully unscrewed the top of the vial and dipped the tine into it, coating the tip like the end of an exquisitely tapered artist's brush.   
  
Solomon began drawing the outline of an elegant scrawling rune at the base of Kincaid's spine, careful to keep his hand steady. Within seconds, the liquid sank beneath the surface and permanently fused itself to his flesh with a searing, sizzling sound. The pain had to have been excruciating, but Kincaid accepted it without complaint, his only reaction a tightening of his fingers against his thighs.   
  
"Etch my entire back, all the way up to the neck." He hissed over his shoulder through clenched teeth, "I want to be ready for this guardian. We can't afford to let the girl get away again."   
  
* * *   
  
Angel sat back on his bed, paging through another book. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to be looking for, but he figured he'd know it when he saw it. So far, after going through a dozen similar tomes, he had found nothing. Less than nothing, actually, as the effort had tired him and dulled his desire to search further. With a frustrated sigh, tossed his newest book aside on the bed and rolled to his feet. Pulling a stretchy black shirt over his head, he wandered aimlessly out to the main room.   
  
He looked into the kitchen nook and smirked bemusedly. Wesley slumbered twisted up in his blankets in an awkward position on the spare cot, his head tilted back over the edge and his mouth hanging wide open. He still had his glasses on and an open book lay discarded on the floor, near his hand, fallen from his grasp. No doubt he had fallen asleep with more than just the contents of the book on his mind.   
  
Quietly removing Wesley's glasses and setting them aside, he picked up the fallen book and approached one end of the seldom-used couch to silently study the sleeping girl. Her blankets were bunched down around her feet and she slept quietly in a long shirt he had loaned her, seemingly unaffected by the cool night air. There was something different about her, he knew, something strangely familiar. He had sensed it at the party, but the appearance of the tattooed man had cut things short before he could learn anything further.   
  
His ever-present frown deepened as he thought of Ariel's attackers. While none of them had displayed evidence of demonhood, that didn't really mean anything since, after all, neither had Angel. He remembered one of the followers had been called Solomon and the other Noah, but the identity of the leader remained a mystery. He was the one Angel was worried about. The tall, blonde man had fought with more strength than his two followers combined. Worse than that, there had been a dangerous determination in his eyes, bordering on fanaticism. Angel wondered what could be driving the man to try and kill an innocent girl.   
  
Ariel offered no answers, curling her arms around her pillow and unconsciously crushing it against her face. It didn't really matter, he supposed. She was in trouble and it was his job to protect her. Perhaps by saving this young woman, he could help make up for the pain and torment he had inflicted on so many others in his lifetime.   
  
He drifted closer to the girl, hovering over her. She looked so small, utterly defenseless as she slept. Ariel moaned drowsily, barely audible, and shifted, tilting her head back and exposing the length of her throat. His eyes roamed to a tiny bulging artery in her neck, residing beneath skin so pale and delicate, and his protective urge evolved suddenly into something else, something dark.   
  
His throat tightened with hunger and heat flushed to his cheeks, filling his head with the distracting song of flowing blood. He imagined he could hear her blood too, pumping through her body at the command of her tiny heart. He felt his face tense as his vampiric features surfaced and his jaw fell open of it's own accord, exposing slick, sharp-tipped canines.   
  
What was he doing? Crouching like some sort of movie monster over this girl who had placed herself into his protection. But the scent of her filled him, the blood so close, the need for it like fire in his undead veins. He moistened his lips, imagining the taste, hot and thick coursing down his throat. Clenching his hands into trembling fists around the edges of the book, he fought for control, seeking to sublimate the relentless primal urge. But it was almost too late.   
  
He couldn't fight it, not anymore. Ariel's slight body called to him, begging him to consume her life in one tremendous, sanguineous feast. Instinctively, his teeth lowered to her tender flesh, less than an inch above the vulnerable artery. It had been too long since he had imbibed human blood. His last taste of it had been at the end of a sickening bout with a rare poison when Buffy had all but forced him to drink from her.   
  
Buffy. She had lain under him, her body trembling with tension as he gorged like a fiend from the side of her neck. The disturbing event had proved to him that, even with his soul restored, Buffy's love for him would always put her life in danger. His head snapped up and he stumbled back, the lusty haze receding instantly in the face of chilling remembrance.   
  
In the blink of an eye, he found himself standing away from the couch next to Wesley, right where he'd been when he had retrieved the book. One moment he had been hovering over Ariel's tiny body, ready to tear her life from her without a moment's remorse, and then he had snapped back to reality almost ten feet away from her as if it had never happened. He felt sick and confused. Had the incident only been a dream or a morbid hallucination of some sort?   
  
It couldn't have been real, he told himself, just a particularly vivid flight of imagination brought on by stress. He had been worried too much lately about concealing his nature. Once this whole mess with Ariel was straightened out, things would return to normal. He hoped.   
  
He turned back toward his bedroom, frowning in troubled thought. It would be safer all around if Ariel's problem was solved quickly. And to do that, he would need help. As he left the room, allowing his eyes to pass worriedly one more time over the sleeping girl's form, his frown deepened.   
  
* * *   
  
Cordelia took a seat at her desk and stifled a yawn, sifting through a pile of phone messages from the day before. None of them were of any particular interest, mostly just bill collectors and telemarketers. Not a client among them.   
  
The door to Angel's office opened and Ariel stepped out, wearing a dark blue shirt of his that hung down past her knees. She had folded down the top of her dress into a makeshift skirt, but the high heels strapped around her ankles looked terribly out of place, ruining her feeble attempt at forming an actual ensemble. Cordelia still felt an instinctive twinge of envy. Despite the limp and disheveled look of her hair and an obvious lack of make-up, Ariel still radiated a simple, natural beauty.   
  
"Hi." The girl smiled tiredly, squinting from the sunlight that streamed through the window, "Is Angel around?"   
  
"Just missed him." She reported, flicking on her computer and waiting for the uncooperative beast to boot up, "He's down in the sew - out. He's gone out."   
  
Crouching down behind the monitor, she made a face. It was easy to forget sometimes that most people had no idea that vampires were real. Not everyone had a Sunnydale pedigree. Over the past four years, Cordelia had become so accustomed to the things that went bump in the night that she accepted them as a daily occurrence. Unless, of course, said things owed the company money. Luckily, Ariel didn't seem to have noticed the verbal slip.   
  
"Damn." Ariel sighed under her breath, "I was hoping to talk to him before going."   
  
"Going?" Cordy peeked out from behind the computer, "Where are you going?"   
  
Ariel shrugged, allowing the long sleeves of Angel's shirt to dangle down over her hands. The garment was so big on her, it made her look like a child.   
  
"Dunno." She replied, "Can't go back to my apartment, that's for sure. Can't crash here. I'll find a place."   
  
Cordelia hurriedly circled out from behind her desk.   
  
"Oh, no, you have to stay." She hooked a tanned arm around the girl's shoulders and steered her around into a chair, "Angel will have a fit if you go now."   
  
Ariel accepted the seat slowly, raising her eyebrows curiously.   
  
"And what if I can't pay?" she posed.   
  
Cordelia snorted and waved her off with an unconcerned hand.   
  
"Than you'll be just like half of all our other clients." She smirked, "Angel may have a good heart, but he's got no head for business, you know?"   
  
Ariel smiled ruefully and turned her attention back to the empty office.   
  
"Doesn't seem like he's got much of a head on his shoulders at all." she observed in impressed disbelief, "I mean he takes on three guys with guns just to protect a girl he doesn't even know? Is he for real?"   
  
Cordelia smiled and sighed, wandering back to her desk.   
  
"I ask myself that same question every single morning when I come to work."   
  
Ariel held the overlong sleeves of Angel's shirt up to her face and inhaled softly, closing her eyes for a moment.   
  
"So, are you, like, his girlfriend or something?" she inquired casually, folding the cuffs back enough to adequately uncover her hands.   
  
"What, me?" Cordy scowled absently, "Hardly. While he does a good job of filling out a tux, there's a little too much emotional baggage involved there for my tastes. Nope, I'm more the young, handsome, captain-of-industry type."   
  
Ariel quirked an amused expression, "I see."   
  
The elevator lurched and dropped into the floor, only to return a few moments later carrying Wesley and an armload of loose blankets.   
  
"Good gracious," he complained with a pained scowl, stepping out and pressing a fist into the small of his back, "I do believe that was the worst night's sleep I've ever had."   
  
Wesley suddenly noticed Ariel and straightened quickly, hastily pulling on his glasses.   
  
"Oh!" he exclaimed, dropping the blankets into a chair and desperately trying to regain his composure, "Ariel, well, good morning, I-I didn't hear you come up."   
  
She cocked a fine, dark eyebrow and smiled, folding her arms around her midsection.   
  
"Well, you were 'guarding me' so soundly I didn't want to wake you."   
  
He shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat, rubbing at the back of his head while Cordelia leaned over conspiratorially next to Ariel.   
  
"Guess that book really wore him out."   
  
The former Watcher slipped his hands into his pants pockets and straightened his back with a frown.   
  
"I've been through more than one book since we returned last night." He maintained, "And not a single page was of any use, I'm afraid. It appears, Miss Black, that your stay here may not be as brief as we had anticipated."   
  
Cordelia noted how he didn't seem terribly worried over the prospect. Meanwhile, if she didn't miss her guess, Ariel had been discreetly inquiring about Angel's datable status. Of course, no doubt her tune would change if she ever found out he was a vampire. Not that Angel's hypersensitive xenophobic reflex wouldn't ward off any female in her right mind anyway. She smirked amusedly to herself. Who needed to watch 'Passions' when she had her own little soap opera unfolding right in front of her?   
  
"Okay, Wes," Ariel rose sharply with a cheeky grin, "now that you're up, what do you say to running me by my place so I can pick up a few things? If I'm going to be hiding out here for an extended period, I can't exactly keep tramping around in Angel's clothes."   
  
"She's got a point," Cordelia agreed, "I'd loan her something of mine, but I haven't been that short since I was ten."   
  
Wesley hesitated, allured by Ariel's attractive smile yet uncertain about possibly disobeying his employer. Angel had been fairly convincing in his argument that the girl's attackers might well know where she lived. But her sparkling blue eyes were difficult to resist. It probably wouldn't hurt to duck over this early in the day when witnesses abounded and creatures of darkness tended to be scarce.   
  
"Perhaps just a quick jaunt," he suggested to her, "Cordelia can hold down the fort while we're gone."   
  
"Sure." She commented sarcastically, blowing out an exasperated sigh while she browsed through a month-old fashion magazine, "I'll do my best to manage."   
  
Wesley ignored her remark and offered his arm out to Ariel.   
  
"Let's not waste time then," he grinned, "We'll take my motorcycle."   
  
Ariel looked incredulously over her shoulder to Cordelia and then back to Wesley, "YOU have a motorcycle?"   
  
* * *   
  
Dorian paced back and forth agitatedly in the upstairs of the club he owned. Pale, ambient light illuminated his features from below, casting stark shadows across his angular features. His hair was pulled back into a tight, blonde ponytail and he was dressed in a casual-style business suit.   
  
Much had changed over the last twenty-four hours and he was unsure as yet of how it would affect him. When Bennett had called for the leaders of the vampire factions to assemble, Dorian had been eager to find a way to turn it to his advantage and perhaps increase his standing within the unspoken hierarchy. But then something had happened that he would never have believed if he hadn't been there to witness it. He was the only one left now, the head of a table served by empty seats.   
  
But all was not lost. If he played his cards right, he could still turn this whole disaster around. While Dorian was fairly young for a vampire, he had become quite adept at turning hardship into windfall.   
  
Going to the tinted window that overlooked the dance floor, he looked out over the empty club. In less than ten hours, the building would be full, hundreds of humans packed in side-by-side with hundreds more waiting in line outside the doors. Easy to indiscreetly pick off a few and make a feast of them. The fools had no idea that not only were they making themselves readily available to die, but that they were actually paying a cover charge for the privilege. The setup was almost too perfect.   
  
"Master Dorian?" a warm, female voice purred in his ear from behind.   
  
Dorian closed his eyes, knowing immediately who it was, and let the woman vampire snake her slender arms around his upper chest.   
  
Sasha was the only one of his followers whom he could almost trust. Four years ago, when he had first arrived in LA, he had found this wild, wonderful creature shouting challenges into the night from atop an overpass, prepared to fight all comers. She was tall for a woman, with a tight, muscular body and a long mane of golden hair. Her eyes practically burned with hatred and indomitable spirit; she was a warrior. It had taken Dorian almost a year of constant pursuit to make her his, but the endeavor had been more than worthwhile. Sasha had become his general, his lover and his confidant as well as his most respected rival. She was like a force of nature. He had no doubt that she would stake him without hesitation if she felt the need. He wouldn't have had it any other way.   
  
"You're so tense, Love." Sasha leaned forward over his shoulder and playfully pressed her teeth against the skin of his neck with gentle pressure, "Your rivals are all dead. You should be pleased after achieving such a coup. The other clans will be yours now."   
  
Dorian's tension only increased despite her careful ministrations. He hadn't told her the full story of what had happened at the meeting, only that the other barons were dead. She had automatically assumed that the deed had been his and he wasn't sure he was prepared to enlighten her. Sasha was too smart to be trusted with such information.   
  
"All is not ready yet, Sasha." He stated levelly, his eyes staring straight ahead into the darkness, "Bennett brought news to the gathering. About the rogue."   
  
Unlike the other barons, Dorian had not been entirely uninformed about Angel and his one-man war against evil. He knew the rogue's true story, his love for the Slayer, the betrayal of the two vampires who he had sired and his subsequent arrival in LA. While the tale painted him as a powerful enemy, none of it mattered. The danger Angel posed was not in his impressive martial capabilities, but in the disruptive influence he represented to the various clans. Dorian's dream was to unite those clans under one rule. His rule. Angel's independence could easily destroy that dream.   
  
"You think he might be a threat to us?" Sasha echoed his thoughts, slinking around in front of him and hooking her arms around his thick neck, "Enough that we should move against him?"   
  
Dorian's lips turned up in an undeniable thin-lipped smile as she nuzzled her face close to his. She was eager to fight, he knew. One of the traits that made her such a force to be reckoned with was the fact that her unquenchable thirst for battle rarely rested far below the surface. It seemed that the warrior in her would never sleep.   
  
"I don't know yet." He answered, wrapping his arms tightly around her body and pulling her close, "But we should prepare regardless."   
  
"A little later, perhaps?" she suggested with a lascivious smile, sliding herself teasingly against him and hooking her fingers into the fabric of his shirt.   
  
Dorian tilted his head back and considered as her teeth brushed hungrily against his throat again, drawing a low groan from deep within him. As much as he would have liked to, he couldn't afford to waste anymore time. It would take a lot of careful maneuvering to get the other clans to fall into line. Killing this rogue could go far to win their respect and, more importantly, their servitude.   
  
The sooner Angel was dead, the better.   
  
* * *   
  
Angel stooped silent and still within the stark shadow of an old, brick warehouse. The sun would be directly overhead soon, forcing him back into the safety of the sewers. He didn't have much time.   
  
He checked his watch anxiously for the third time in as many minutes. She had told him she would meet him, after a significant amount of cajoling on his part, but she was nowhere to be found.   
  
"Kate, where are you?" he muttered to himself.   
  
"Right here." She answered archly from the mouth of the alley, "Sorry to keep you waiting."   
  
She stood, bathed in bright sunlight, regarding him skeptically and standing with her arms crossed over her chest. Angel noted with discomfort that she had chosen a position that was just beyond what he could reach without venturing into the sun. Since the death of her father, her distrust of him had become habitual.   
  
"Kate, I'm glad you came." He greeted her awkwardly.   
  
"Let's cut to the chase." She suggested tersely, "You know why you called me and so do I. Something bad's going on and, as usual, you're involved."   
  
He sighed, resigning himself to dealing with her prickly attitude. After all, he needed her help, not necessarily her civility.   
  
"You get any reports lately of out-of-towners?"   
  
Kate's lips thinned and she rolled her light blue eyes slightly.   
  
"What do I look like, immigration?" she snorted, "Angel, this is LA. You'll have to be more specific."   
  
"This guy is pretty distinctive." He nodded, "He's English, tall, with blonde hair. Blue tattoos all up and down his arms. He tried to kill a girl last night."   
  
He didn't want to mention that the girl was now staying with him. He knew what she would accuse him of. And in light of the strange feeling that had come over him while Ariel slept last night, he wasn't so sure she would be wrong.   
  
"I see." She pushed her hands into the pockets of her jacket and began to pace, still keeping to the safety of the sunlight, "Nothing's come across the board, but if you headed him off last night, then that may be why. All I can do is keep an eye out and an ear open."   
  
Angel looked at her seriously.   
  
"There's more." He warned, "It's pretty likely that he's . . . a little more than you're used to dealing with."   
  
It only took a moment for his meaning to sink in and the information brought a slight scowl to her features.   
  
"Don't be so sure of that." She commented bitterly, "The beat cops have been calling me 'Loonie Lockley' behind my back because of all the weirdness I've been involved in since that first supernatural experience."   
  
Angel's lips tightened in remembrance. Kate's headlong plunge into his world had been largely because of him and he sometimes felt responsible for that.   
  
"So is this another stake-through-the-heart occasion?" her mouth quirked with residual anger and her hand hovered near the inside pocket of her jacket, "Because that happens to be something I'm prepared for."   
  
Angel met the verbal barb stoically. Of course, she probably hadn't met with him without a stake handy since she had found out his true nature. Still, the revelation stung him.   
  
"I don't know for sure." He shook his head uncertainly, "Look, just be careful, okay? I have a bad feeling about this guy."   
  
Something in his voice must have struck a chord with her, because the hard mask of confrontation on her face softened somewhat.   
  
"I can run his description through the system and see what comes up, but it doesn't sound like a good bet." She offered in the closest thing to a gesture of friendliness she had shown him in months, "I'll call Cordelia if I get anything."   
  
As she stepped back, he mirrored her, melding into the comfort of the shadows.   
  
"Thanks, Kate."   
  
Turning his back, he retreated for the opposite end of the alley. Frustration bristled in every step he took, making his movements sharp and short. He hadn't really expected Kate to have anything on Ariel's attackers, but he assumed that one of these times the Powers That Be would have to lob him a slow pitch. Apparently, that day was still yet to come. At least Kate was aware of the danger now.   
  
Wandering heedlessly along the dark parts of the passages, he avoided going home. Ariel would be there and, unconsciously, he worried about being close to her again. He had long since learned to control his animal cravings, training his body to take the measures of animal blood he ingested purely on a sustenance level. It hadn't always been like that though. The memory of how satisfying it felt to crush a victim against his body, to feel its fear and the feeble struggling of its dying body, lingered with him. Soul or not, he would never be able to change his nature, only curb and sublimate it.   
  
But something recent had upset that control somehow. At first he had wanted to believe that it was nothing, just his mind playing tricks on him. The episode with Ariel implied otherwise, however. One way or another, he would have to solve her case as quickly and smoothly as possible.   
  
Preoccupied as he was, he almost didn't notice the four men who appeared out of the deepest shadows as he turned a corner. Carrying knives and baseball bats, the group was dressed in jeans and T-shirts, but Angel knew they weren't typical street thugs. Human thugs didn't share his fear of direct sunlight.   
  
The first came at him with a savage overhand swing, narrowly missing his skull with the business end of a baseball bat. Catching the weapon, Angel pinned it to the asphalt and snapped it with a sharp blow from the heel of his hand. The bat cracked lengthwise, creating a long, sharp, wooden tooth.   
  
Grabbing up the fragment, he quickly jabbed it up into his opponent's ribcage, directly into the heart. The thug screamed an airy wail and exploded into a cloud of dust.   
  
A knife tore through his shirt, cutting a shallow wound into his side, as two more vampires attacked from behind.   
  
Angel slapped aside a strike that had been aimed at his throat and backhanded his young vampire opponent. The other was on him instantly from the opposite side and he was hard-pressed to keep them at bay.   
  
Diving into a roll, he came up with the makeshift stake in his hand, jabbing with it like a knife. The closer of his two opponents circled cautiously, swiping at the stake and attempting to knock it out of his grasp.   
  
The other vampire prowled opposite his companion, on Angel's other side, seeking to take him simultaneously. Angel wasn't worried. The pair were young, probably less than a decade old, and their inexperience was obvious. It was unlikely that either of them would pose much of a serious threat.   
  
Swiftly, Angel kicked the first and cracked his fist across the jaw of the other. A punch thudded into his midsection, but he shrugged it off, wrestling another opponent into a headlock and throwing it over his hip.   
  
The three tackled him from opposing sides, seeking to tie up his limbs and drag him down through sheer force of numbers. Angel struggled against their combined strength, shoving one of them back and kicking it in the chest and elbowing another in the throat. As he raised his arm to stake the third, a rusty, metal chain snapped painfully against his wrist, wrapping around tightly and entangling him.   
  
He turned and faced a tall, Nordic-looking creature with long, blonde hair and wearing a tight, black shirt. The vampire leered arrogantly, twirling the free end of the chain in his hands. Something about his face seemed familiar, but Angel couldn't place it. Had they met before?   
  
Another vampire left the shadows and joined the first. This one was a woman, tall and leanly-muscled, built like a cheetah, with sharp, green eyes and a mane of untamed golden hair that reached almost to her waist.   
  
"It's him, isn't it, Dorian?" she grinned to her companion, her gaze raking hungrily up and down Angel's body, "The rogue. Let me kill him for you, please?"   
  
Dorian cocked his head and looked Angel over with arrogant confidence. Again, something about the expression on his face tugged naggingly at Angel's memory.   
  
"It's him alright." Dorian chuckled, "The vampire with a soul."   
  
Angel narrowed his eyes in response, prying at the chain around his arm.   
  
"You want an autograph" he spat, "or can we just fight?"   
  
Dorian roared with dark laughter and hauled hard on the chain, jerking Angel from his feet. The stake went tumbling from his grip as he hit the pavement and he landed with his head squarely between the feet of the female vampire.   
  
Her shaggy blonde hair hung around her face as she craned her neck and peered down at him with a toothsome, bloodthirsty grin.   
  
Her fist dropped sharply, narrowly missing his face and cracking into the pavement. Curling sharply, he lifted his legs and hooked his feet together behind her head, dragging her down.   
  
The woman rolled with the momentum and twisted free, flying over him and landing in a crouch with the nimbleness of a hunting cat. Still grinning, she spun around and sprang.   
  
Angel tried to raise his fist to ward her off, but the Nordic-looking vampire hauled on the chain again and pulled him off balance, bringing him dangerously close to a bright sunbeam and allowing the woman an unobstructed shot at his head. He hissed in pain as her sharpened fingernails caught him under the jaw and raked up the side of his face. Reacting instinctively, he kicked back into her midsection and dove for Dorian.   
  
A weight fell across his back and a strong arm seized him around the throat from behind, the forearm pulling hard against his windpipe.   
  
"Ah-ah-ah," the woman admonished with a leer, pressing her lips against the bloody furrows in his cheek, "Can't start something new until you and I are finished, rogue."   
  
Bouncing upward, she used her arms as a fulcrum and smashed both knees into the small of his back.   
  
Angel fell to his knees, wincing as pain shot up his spine. The woman jerked him back to his feet and cracked a hard fist into the back of his head. As he hit the ground, the chain around his arm loosened and released, returning him to a full compliment of limbs again.   
  
The weapon's wielder gathered it up and folded his arms calmly across his chest. Dorian seemed content to watch and wait as the woman continued to fight.   
  
She dove at Angel with a gleeful, animalistic scream, hands reaching for his throat with ecstatic fervor. Desperately, he batted them aside and spun away from another wall of killing sunlight, launching a swift backhand toward her head. She seemed to have anticipated the attack and ducked expertly, sweeping in under his reach and slamming an uppercut into his chin.   
  
He accepted the blow with gritted teeth and retaliated with a hook punch to the jaw that wrenched her head sharply to the side. The female vampire didn't slow down. In fact, she seemed to enjoy the pain and it spurred her to greater savagery. Angel bent forward as her foot struck him in the ribs and he drove upward with his legs, smashing the crown of his skull into her mouth.   
  
The woman vampire stumbled back, holding her mouth to stem a slight flow of blood. She withdrew her hand and looked at her red-stained fingers for a moment in confusion, then grinned widely at him, exposing bloodied teeth.   
  
"Oh, I like you." She breathed excitedly, washing her tongue along the edges of her teeth and mouth, "It's just too bad you're on the wrong side."   
  
Angel started to back off, hoping to draw the woman away from the others and get her alone. She was a good fighter and his chances of beating her and her allies together were slim. With the added disadvantage of the noontime sun, it was a risk he didn't plan to take. But he wasn't planning to give up, only to get more creative.   
  
Pulling his long coat up over his head, he dove into a well-lit area and bolted for another alley. None of his attackers were dressed with cover in mind and if they followed, they would certainly be burned.   
  
The Nordic leader with the chain was more cunning than Angel had anticipated, though. Ripping the vest from the back of one of his minions, he held it over his head and ran straight through the sunlit area. Behind him, the woman mirrored his tactic and followed closely. Angel heard the sizzle as small bits of sun reached their flesh, but the pair hardly slowed.   
  
Ducking into another side alley, he swiftly jerked the cover off a sewer access tunnel. The woman vampire's wild laughter echoed disturbingly up the alleyway after him, indicating his pursuers' closeness.   
  
Seconds later, the pair came upon the open tunnel and smiled to one another. With barely a moment's hesitation, they dropped through and picked up the chase again.   
  
Thirty feet above, crouched on a rickety, metal fire escape in deep shadow, Angel watched them fall for his ruse. His eyes still locked cautiously on the alley below, he crept furtively into the interior of the building and disappeared.   
  
* * *   
  
Cordelia watched absently as Angel paced by the office door. He had come back to the office half an hour ago, his clothes scuffed and torn. While any wounds he had received had apparently healed without a trace, it was obvious that he had gotten into a fight. Nothing new, of course, but something was bothering him and, as usual, he wasn't forthcoming with the problem.   
  
"Don't you have some quiet brooding or something to do?" she asked in mild annoyance as he passed in front of her desk for what seemed like the hundredth time.   
  
"They shouldn't have gone." He stated evenly, stopping pacing, but still tense.   
  
He was referring to Wesley and Ariel, obviously. The two had been gone for hours, but Cordelia didn't see any reason to be worried, at least not yet.   
  
"Relax." she suggested, scowling in concentration as she attempted to enter the information from a paper invoice into her computer's database, "They'll be around. Wesley's probably just so moon-eyed that he forgot the way back."   
  
"Maybe you're right." He grudgingly agreed, "Which is just another reason why they should have stayed here."   
  
Cordy stopped with her data entry and looked around the side of her monitor at him. Again, she had the distinct impression that he was withholding something from her.   
  
"Don't you think this should be a job for the police?" she pointed out, "I mean we aren't exactly running a women's shelter here."   
  
Angel shook his head softly in negation without looking at her.   
  
"No, I don't trust the police to handle this." He eased down into a hard-backed chair, "There's more to the situation than you think."   
  
"Mm-hmmm. . . " she responded, unconvinced, watching him intently, "And this has nothing to do with our young damsel, huh?"   
  
"Give me some credit, Cordelia." He scoffed, "This is about protecting her from harm, not trying to line up a date for Saturday night."   
  
"All right, fine, I believe you." She leaned back in her chair and raised her hands in surrender, "Not that getting out once in a while wouldn't do you some good. When WAS the last time you went out?"   
  
Angel didn't answer, keeping his gaze focused on an invisible point on the wall, but Cordelia ignored his darkening mood.   
  
"I'm just saying that a nice, non-supernatural night out might not be such a bad idea for you." She added.   
  
"I'm not kidding." he responded, "I don't think it's a good idea for her to keep staying at my place."   
  
"Meaning?" Cordy arched a fine, chestnut eyebrow, intrigued. Had something happened last night with Ariel? Was that why he was being so evasive? And yet another layer added to her personal daytime drama.   
  
Unsteady steps sounded outside the door followed by a loud thud and a pained groan that sounded like Wesley's. Cordelia and Angel both shot to their feet and Angel ran for the hall.   
  
The vampire attack earlier had left him agitated and his muscles still hovered in a state of tense readiness. Bursting through the door into the hallway, he raised his hands, ready for an attack.   
  
He found Wesley leaning heavily against the wall and holding his lower back with a large suitcase on the floor next to him.   
  
"Quite alright, nothing to be alarmed about." He assured his employer with a pained wince, "Just an old battle injury."   
  
Angel raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. From what he could recall, the 'old battle injury' Wesley was favoring had occurred at the hands of Cordelia's desk during one of her more recent redecorating fits. The motivation behind his exaggeration was obvious, though.   
  
Ariel strolled up behind him, standing two inches taller than usual on the heels of black, platform shoes. She had changed into a pair of worn, faded jeans and a snug black T-shirt decorated with the word GAP across the front. Her small, gray leather jacket hung folded over one arm.   
  
"Hey, Tough Guy." She greeted cheerily, "You just missed the coolest bike ride ever. I haven't driven like that since high school!"   
  
Angel turned a concerned gaze on Wesley, "You let her drive?"   
  
Wesley stopped in the midst of another attempt to drag the suitcase and shrugged weakly, "Well, she assured me that she was quite capable."   
  
"Yeah, no sweat." Ariel agreed, "I ride motorcycles all the time."   
  
Gripping her suitcase by the handle which was almost up to her waist level, she hauled it up awkwardly with two hands and hobbled into the office.   
  
Angel watched her go curiously then turned to Wesley who returned him a bewildered expression. Both men followed her inside, as she set the cumbersome bag down and gave it a kick, pushing it a scant few inches across the floor.   
  
"You'd never guess that there's only half my clothes in there." She smirked, pausing to judge the possibility of another approach.   
  
Both Angel and Wesley moved to help, but she shooed them off.   
  
"Relax, I'm a big girl. I've been able to carry my luggage all by myself for a while now. Shouldn't the two of you be investigating . . ." she waved her hands uncertainly in the air and frowned prettily, "private . . . stuff?"   
  
"Actually, no." Wesley disagreed, "Things have been rather slow lately."   
  
Angel looked at him in mild confusion. What was Wesley talking about? Since Ariel had taken up residence in his apartment, none of them had gotten any closer to identifying her attackers. He had assumed that he, Wesley and Cordelia would be spending the night tracking down answers.   
  
"Oh, cool," Ariel smiled brightly, "then maybe we CAN go out tonight. What do you say, Angel?"   
  
Angel's puzzlement was immediately answered. Obviously, Ariel had suggested a night out earlier and Wesley had leapt at the opportunity.   
  
"I don't think so." He refused with serious eyes, "It's too dangerous. That kind of exposure in a public place could get you killed. Until we find out who those men were who attacked you, you're better off staying inside."   
  
He started toward the elevator and Ariel caught hold of his hand, stalling him.   
  
"Oh, come on!" she pleaded, "I'm not going to turn into a hermit just because some psycho's got a fatal attraction. Besides, no one's going to try and kill me in plain sight of a thousand people."   
  
As the vampire brought his fist to his chin in thought, Wesley stepped forward eagerly.   
  
"Yes, Angel." he encouraged, "A night out would be good for all of us. It's Ariel's birthday, after all, you know."   
  
"Your birthday?" Angel turned an incredulous eye on her, uncertain whether the claim was real or just another part of her ploy to convince him.   
  
"Well, not actually for another two days," She shrugged sheepishly, "but I'm almost twenty-one, so I should be checking out the clubs, you know. I'm sure any bouncer with a sense of decency won't bother me over two lousy days."   
  
Cordelia hopped up out of her seat with her purse in her hands.   
  
"Count me in." She announced happily, "I haven't had a good night out in weeks."   
  
Angel folded his arms across his chest and turned to her with a questioning expression. Only a few months ago, she had turned nineteen, two years shy of the minimum age at most clubs. Perfect, if she had to stay home, then he could veto the planned excursion without being the bad guy.   
  
"How do you plan to get in?" he asked confidently, "I doubt a bouncer is going to be as lenient with two years as he might be with two days."   
  
Cordelia met his gaze with unflagging conviction. Digging her hand around inside her purse, she withdrew a small, laminated card, holding it up in the air and presenting it to him.   
  
"A fake ID?" Angel noted in amazement, snatching the card out of her hand to inspect it, "Where did you get this?"   
  
"Nice job, huh?" Cordelia smiled proudly and plucked the ID back from him, "Doyle had it made for me before my birthday. You know, the one that you forgot?"   
  
Ariel seemed to gather confidence from the vote of support and tugged insistently on his hand.   
  
"If you won't come along for fun, then come to keep an eye on me." She smiled mischievously up at him, "Because whether I get your blessing or not, I'm going. I just thought it would be nice if I had some company."   
  
Angel stared at her for long seconds, his face impassive and unreadable. He didn't feel safe letting her go out into unfamiliar territory. But, since she wasn't paying him, he didn't really have any right to be telling her what to do, either. There had been a time when he would have just turned a stoic and brooding cheek and ignored the request, but something about her made him want to relent. This seemed to be becoming a habit lately, giving in to the wishes of willful women. LA was definitely making him soft. Releasing a tense sigh, he nodded in grudging surrender.   
  
Ariel clapped her small hands together excitedly and jumped up and down.   
  
"This is going to be so great!" she beamed.   
  
* * *   
  
Music thundered unheeded within the expansive nightclub as Dorian stared through the glass of his overlooking office, his mind working busily. He pressed the tips of his fingers against the glass and let the muffled, pulsing beat of the music send vibrations up his arm.   
  
He wanted something different tonight. Sasha stood beside him, scanning the milling crowd below with equal intensity. If either of them spotted a suitable candidate, he planned to sire some new blood after eating. But, so far, the pickings appeared slim.   
  
Below, the main doors opened and the thick-chested bouncer allowed four more people to enter. It was a routine arrangement. Allowing people entry in controlled measures made the club seem more impressive to those waiting outside. Which meant more people would wait to get in, which, in turn meant more money in Dorian's pocket.   
  
The vampire baron looked closer and his body went rigidly tense as he recognized one of the club's newest arrivals. Angel quickly moved off to the side and out of the way of traffic as soon as he was inside, using his greater size and weight as a shield for his companions.   
  
He masqueraded in the human world as a detective and the title was apparently justified. The failed attempt to destroy him had unfortunately blown Dorian's cover. Now Angel was here in the very heart of his territory, looking to finish the carnage he had started with the other barons.   
  
"Is something wrong, my lord?" Sasha queried in concern, the shining blade of a flawless Japanese sword balanced over her shoulder.   
  
Dorian wondered if it might be time to tell her the truth about what had happened to the other barons. Instinctive paranoia curbed the desire and he forced his face to relax and become impassive.   
  
"Is it the vampire?" she guessed astutely, noting the figure dressed all in black as he cut easily through the crowd, "I'm amazed that he found us so quickly."   
  
Dorian shrugged and turned halfway away from the window, concealing his concern.   
  
"It doesn't matter." He answered shortly, "I'll have one of the boys take him outside so we can deal with him."   
  
As always, a part of his mind was working independently of the rest, contemplating ways in which to turn the situation to his advantage. The earlier direct assault on Angel's person had proved unsuccessful, but Dorian saw no problem with the plan, only its execution.   
  
Digging a cell phone out of the inside pocket of his jacket, he flipped it open and dialed the number for the beeper of one of his most valued henchmen in the club below. The code was a rehearsed signal, everything would be in place within minutes.   
  
This time Angel would die.   
  
* * *   
  
Angel led the way through the tightly-packed crowd, using his size and unnatural strength to create a channel for himself and the others. A plethora of sensation glutted the club. Loud music pounded off the high walls and vibrated within the emptiness of his unmoving lungs while colored patterns of light flashed and spun about the room. The warm air was thickly laden with the myriad scents of humanity. He didn't feel right. He hated being surrounded by so many people, all touching him and shouting to be heard above the relentless beat of the music. The sheer sensory overload was too much at once for someone who preferred the comfort of a dark, empty room.   
  
A small body squeezed around from behind and grabbed him by the arm to get his attention.   
  
"Hey!" Ariel shouted a greeting, "This place is great, huh?!"   
  
"Where are the others?" he asked, bending low so she could hear him.   
  
"I think Wesley's over by the bar." She replied thoughtfully, "And Cordy went to check on her make-up. I'm not much for doing the bathroom girl parade, so I figured I'd come find you."   
  
He nodded briefly, having no other response to offer, and stood in uncomfortable silence. A short, quieter period from the club's sound system marked a change of songs and Ariel immediately brightened in excitement.   
  
"Oh, I LOVE this song!" she crowed happily.   
  
Angel found himself unable to concur. To him, this new song sounded exactly like the last one and the dozen before that, all having the same electronic sharpness and frenetic, never-ending beat. Absently, he wondered what had ever become of nice, understated acoustic instruments.   
  
"Let's dance." Ariel suggested, pulling him toward the dance floor with surprising strength.   
  
"I don't dance." He resisted, stopping just on the edge of the dance area.   
  
"Oh, come on, Angel, help me out here." She pleaded with a slight pout, "If you don't dance with me then I'll have to make due with Wesley."   
  
She nodded her head toward the bar where the young Englishman was busily bopping away, seemingly oblivious to the tempo of the music, while Cordelia stood next to him actively trying to appear as if she had never seen him before in her life.   
  
"He's a real sweet guy," she cocked an amused eyebrow, "but rhythm like that could make a buffalo look graceful."   
  
He made no move to continue going with her and she settled for dancing by herself with a sigh. Angel remained standing on the spot, moving only slightly to the music as Ariel contented herself with dancing and swaying in a tight circle around him. He watched her graceful movements, her body responding to the rhythm and her eyes closed without concern as she let the music flow through her. Centuries ago he had known what it felt like to enjoy a simple pleasure like dancing with such abandon, but time had changed him.   
  
Gradually, as Ariel continued to pretend that he was moving with her, he began to feel less uncomfortable. He admired her lack of self-consciousness and it started to affect him, easing the tension from his body. Buffy had possessed a similar honest enjoyment of life and when he had been with her, he had been able to experience it vicariously somewhat through her. The memories returned to him with a faint bittersweet smile, called by Ariel's unintentionally comforting presence.   
  
The scent of her hair, the warmth of her body in his arms, he remembered it all with the distant surrealness of a dream and it filled his blood with fire. The sound of the music became muffled in his ears, taking on an underwater quality, and his vision hazed. Only Ariel stayed in focus, her graceful body swaying temptingly before him.   
  
He wanted her. He wanted to chase her and hunt her and drag her to the ground, like a cheetah with an antelope. It would be so easy to just lead her away and discreetly sink his teeth into her. She probably wouldn't even resist at first. With a low, predatory grumble sounding deep in his chest, he reached out and grasped Ariel's shoulder.   
  
"Hey," she took hold of his hand with both of hers, her soft voice snapping him out of his fugue state, "See, I knew you'd loosen up a little."   
  
The haze of hunger dropped away, return his senses to normal. Again, something about Ariel had inspired an instinctive reaction from his primitive side. And, like last time, the episode had been connected somehow to thoughts of Buffy. He had to get away from her, find some way to clear his head. As he tugged on his hand to free it, Ariel gripped it tighter and held on.   
  
"Oh." He blinked confusedly, staring uncomfortably down at his hand, "No, I was . . . just thinking."   
  
"Oh yeah?" she peered up at him, "What about?"   
  
Angel slipped his hand loose and backed off defensively, bumping the person behind him. A moment later, strong fingers wrapped around his upper arm and he turned his head to face a mountain of a man dressed in a club bouncer uniform.   
  
"Excuse me sir," the bouncer apologized insincerely while simultaneously squeezing Angel's arm in a crushing grip, "but the manager would like to have a word with you."   
  
"Hey, what's your problem, jerk?!" Ariel jumped in front the mountain threateningly, "He barely bumped that guy!"   
  
It was an odd scene to witness, Ariel squaring off with a man that was almost twice her size and likely three times her weight, yet standing fierce and totally fearless.   
  
"It's okay, Ariel." He said assuredly as the mountain looked about ready to step on her, "I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding."   
  
Grudgingly, she stepped aside and granted the bouncer passage, scowling with dissatisfaction. He was glad when she relented. This newest surfacing of his primal self had disturbed him and he welcomed the excuse to distance himself from her. And while the bouncer looked formidable, it was nothing he couldn't handle, he was sure. Even the strongest human had no hope of overpowering a vampire.   
  
As the man ushered him along an enforced path toward a metal door at the back, the vampire pondered what the manager could want with him. Cordelia's fake ID was an obvious conclusion. Someone, possibly a vindictive acting colleague, must have recognized her and dropped a hint to one of the bouncers. A sincere apology, Cordelia's promise never to return until it was legally acceptable, and maybe a few dollars to grease the wheels would probably be all it would cost him. He still planned to give her a good lecture when everything was all over, not that it would be likely to influence her.   
  
The bouncer held the door open and pushed on the small of Angel's back, indicating that he should step through. After a moment of instinctive resistance, the vampire complied, entering a damp dark alleyway behind the club.   
  
Only one end of the alley was open, with an adjoining branch near the closed end. The brick walls were worn and stained dark from neglect and the narrow passage was strewn with refuse. The smell was offensive, mixing unpleasantly with the moisture from a cloud of pale steam that wafted slowly up from a metal grate in the street.   
  
Two groups of men were waiting for him, one at each end of the alley, surrounding him. The bouncer's steel-strong arms clamped around Angel from behind in a constricting grip, lifting him completely off his feet with ease and pinning his arms. The others in the alley all wore vampiric visages now and the bouncer's unearthly strength pronounced his undead nature as well. Angel realized that he had just walked into a trap.   
  
One of the groups parted wordlessly and a vehicle engine rumbled ominously as a gleaming chrome motorcycle coasted forward slowly through the crowd. Angel recognized the driver immediately as the vampire named Dorian, one of the ones who had attacked him earlier.   
  
Dorian shut off the motorcycle's engine and dismounted with a confident grin as Sasha melted out of the darkness beside him, a keen-edged Japanese sword hanging easily in her hand.   
  
"Hello again, Angel." He greeted darkly.   
  
* * *   
  
Wesley leaned inconspicuously with his back against the bar, his earlier zest subdued. Subdued because Cordelia's patience for his spastic style of dance had run out not long ago and she had expressed her feelings with a stiletto heel to the top of his foot. Incapacitated by the grievous wound, he had limped over to the bar and remained there until the worst of the pain had passed.   
  
True, he had perhaps been a little overzealous in his enjoyment, but that didn't give Cordelia the right to hobble him. At least nothing was broken, small consolation. He silently made a note to make off with her stapler tomorrow morning before she got to work. Petty revenge was usually beneath him, but his throbbing foot was proving to be a source of dark inspiration.   
  
Testing his foot, he found that it could almost support his whole weight again and rested it against the floor. While he would probably be fine in a few minutes, it was unlikely that he would be dancing comfortably again before the night was over. He straightened his glasses and let his gaze wander out onto the dancefloor.   
  
He couldn't see her, but he knew that she was out there somewhere.   
  
Wesley had hoped to use tonight as an opportunity to get to know Ariel better before her case was solved and he had no more excuses left to be around her. But it was rapidly becoming apparent that her preference was with the brooding vampire. It wasn't surprising to him, really. Angel had always had something of a dark grace about him, certainly more of an attraction for a young woman than a slim, bespectacled Englishman.   
  
True to form, Wesley's night was turning out to be decidedly less enjoyable than he had hoped. Craning his head the other way, he found Cordelia also against the bar with her back turned to him. Her evening, on the other hand, appeared to be on an upswing. Ignoring Wesley entirely, she was busily chatting with a tall young man dressed in an impeccable charcoal gray suit, appearing to be enrapt with his conversation.   
  
Seeing no opportunity for social contact there, he turned his eyes back to the dancefloor with a wistful sigh. A foreboding chill shot down his spine and he straightened as he noted a giant of a man with a face like a cold slab of stone dragging Angel through the crowd toward the back.   
  
Quickly leaning over, he nudged Cordelia.   
  
"Cordelia." he whispered sharply.   
  
Appearing annoyed, she scowled sidelong over her shoulder.   
  
"Not now, Wesley." she warned quietly, gesturing covertly to her conversation companion, "Sorta busy here."   
  
"Angel's in trouble." he informed her insistently, trying to keep his eyes focused on the vampire as he was rudely ushered through a metal door to an alleyway out back.   
  
"Then why don't you go help him?" she returned from the corner of her mouth, keeping her attention focused on the young man in front of her.   
  
Wesley frowned in frustration, unaccustomed to dealing with her resistant attitude. Experience as a Watcher to two willful Slayers had taught him a thing or two, however.   
  
"If he dies, we'll both be out of a job." he reminded her, tugging on her elbow.   
  
"Oh, damn." Cordelia shot an apologetic and regretful look to the young man as she allowed Wesley to guide her toward the back, "It was nice meeting you!"   
  
As they approached the metal door, she jerked her arm free and sighed raggedly in exasperation.   
  
"I can't believe I'm abandoning an Armani stud-god to follow Angel into the jaws of death. Again!" she groaned, "God, I hate my job!"   
  
Wesley ignored her complaint and pointed at the door. The crowd was thicker here toward the rear and without Angel's supernatural strength to push them through, progress would be slow.   
  
Above him on a dark catwalk, a small, black-haired figure slipped unseen through a rooftop window.   
  
* * *   
  
"So what exactly is this all about, Dorian?" Angel growled at the other vampire, straining against the bouncer's crushing hold.   
  
Dorian met his challenging tone with a disdainful sneer while the woman circled around Angel's side with predatory steps, her sword blade balanced over her shoulder. Her green eyes were locked on him with keen interest as she ran her tongue slowly across the edges of her upper teeth.   
  
"You've made quite a name for yourself." Sasha chuckled, "Two of them, if anyone's counting, eh, Angelus?"   
  
Angel ignored her and held Dorian's gaze with silent annoyance, waiting patiently for him to continue.   
  
"We don't like vampires who set themselves apart from the others." The blonde vampire explained calmly, "Some see it as a threat to those in power, which, thanks to good fortune, is me now."   
  
The cool, metal blade of Sasha's sword slapped threateningly against the underside of Angel's chin and she leered eagerly at him. He tilted his head back, but kept his face carefully blank, unwilling to betray fear.   
  
"So I've only got one thing to ask you before Sasha cuts your head off." Dorian stopped a few feet in front of him and folded his arms across his chest, "Any last words?"   
  
"Yeah," Angel grinned cockily, "look behind you."   
  
While Dorian did not fall for the ploy, Sasha turned instinctively, unconsciously lowering the blade a few inches from his throat.   
  
Angel snapped both his feet up and shot them out, cracking his heels solidly into the center of her back. The woman vampire flew forward and fell flat on the asphalt, the sword spinning out of her grip as she landed.   
  
Throwing his head back sharply into the jaw of the giant holding him, Angel dropped nimbly to the ground. Before the bouncer could react, Angel slammed the heel of his boot down onto his opponent's kneecap and shoved him sprawling onto a wooden crate, smashing it under his considerable weight.   
  
Whirling instinctively, he snatched up a fragment and caught the overhand attack of another vampire, slamming the rudimentary weapon home.   
  
As the creature dissolved into a cloud of powdery ash, he quickly spun and grabbed a young vampire around the throat, twisting to avoid its grasping claws and smashed a hard fist into its face multiple times. Shoving his disoriented enemy back, he dropped it with a solid kick to the chest.   
  
"Stop him!" Dorian roared to his minions. Weaponless now, Sasha moved to lead the attack, but Dorian cautiously held her back. Her lip curled in anger, but she grudgingly abided by her lord's decision.   
  
Angel backed off cautiously, sizing up the assembly of advancing adversaries, and hastily formed a plan of attack. They had him at a great disadvantage through numbers alone, but he had fought worse. They were all young, not nearly as well-versed in fighting their own kind as he was. As long as Sasha and Dorian continued to stay put, he probably wouldn't be too hard pressed.   
  
A huge fist slammed into the back of his skull with the force of a hammer. Angel fell forward to one knee and lost his grip on the wood in his hand, dark spots dancing briefly before his eyes. Looking over his shoulder with narrowed eyes, he glared at his newest attacker. Equally enraged, the towering bouncer snarled and cracked hard knuckles threateningly into the palm of his opposite hand.   
  
"Okay, Tiny." Angel growled, the vampiric features of his face manifesting, "That's two now. Let's see how you do when you're not behind me."   
  
The giant lunged with surprising agility and Angel deftly sidestepped, knocking away a grasping, paw-like hand. The bulky vampire spun with the movement, bringing the back of his other fist around to thud into Angel's ribs. He hit the pavement and skidded to his knees, accepting the pain and rising to circle more cautiously this time. Unlike the others, this behemoth appeared to be quite comfortable with street fighting.   
  
"Rex used to be a championship wrestler, Angel." Dorian informed him, observing the contest confidently, "I think he was undefeated even then. Want to guess how well he's kept up his record?"   
  
Angel ignored the comment, concentrating on Rex's movements. Feinting for the head, he dropped low and launched an uppercut for his opponent's throat. The big man was prepared, however, and slapped the strike aside before it had even had a chance to connect. Angel dove desperately to avoid a clubbing fist and rolled away.   
  
Rex stayed on him relentlessly, stomping with thick, heavy boots as Angel bounded to his feet and sought cover. A hard strike connected with his spine and threw him to the ground.   
  
The bouncer stepped over the remains of the wooden crate and stooped to pick up a piece that was almost as long as a spear. Before he could put the weapon to use, however, Angel jumped up and smashed his fist into Rex's midsection. His knuckles connected solidly, but the behemoth's impressive girth seemed to absorb the impact without effect. Lashing out again, Angel thudded a series of strikes to his opponent's chest and stomach, again with no apparent results.   
  
"Damn." Angel frowned, "You'd think with the size of you, you'd have a soft spot or two."   
  
"You can't hurt me, punk." Rex snarled with laughter as he backhanded Angel and spun him face first to the ground atop the metal grate, "I been kicking ass on guys like you for fifty years. I ain't got no weak spots."   
  
Angel glared over his shoulder and hooked his fingers through the metal, bracing his knees against the pavement. Lurching sharply, he ripped the heavy grate out of the ground and slammed it up into his opponent's crotch.   
  
The inert air blasted out of Rex's lungs and his eyes bulged as he folded up, barely standing and cradling his wound. Dropping the grate with a dull clunk, Angel squatted and pulled the creature in close before hoisting its ponderous girth up over one shoulder and into the air.   
  
Deftly flipping a jagged piece of the crate sharp-end up with his foot, he strained and dropped the heavy load onto it, piercing the vampire through the heart.   
  
Not even bothering to look down as Rex's body disintegrated, Angel toe-flicked the crate fragment into his hand and glared at Dorian's rage-flushed face.   
  
"Guess I found a soft spot after all." He observed, "So who wants to be next?"   
  
Sasha stepped forward and raised her hands, an eager light in her eyes. All the other vampires, save Dorian, crowded around the opening to of the side alley, giving them plenty of room but unfortunately blocking off his only avenue of escape. Resigning himself, Angel mirrored her position and fell into a comfortable fighting stance, beckoning with the tip of his weapon.   
  
Instantly, an airy wail cut through the night and one of Dorian's vampire minions dissolved into a column of dust. A small, swift shape burst through the crowd, skidding to a stop between Angel and the vampires. It was Ariel, standing protectively in front of him, facing his enemies with Sasha's lost sword brandished in two hands before her.   
  
"Get back, Angel." She commanded without looking at him, "Don't worry, I can protect you."   
  
Angel hesitated. Where had she come from and what the hell was she talking about? Obviously, she hadn't taken the time to look at his face or she would have realized that Dorian and his henchmen weren't the only vampires present.   
  
Sasha leered at the girl and advanced a threatening step.   
  
"I think that belongs to me, little girl." She chuckled derisively, indicating the sword.   
  
Ariel cocked a wry eyebrow and tilted her head, undaunted.   
  
"You want it back?" she smiled a challenge, "Come here and I'll give it to you."   
  
Angel couldn't afford to keep his nature a secret from her any longer. Without his help, Ariel wouldn't last a second against Sasha. But as he moved to get between the two women, she dove heedlessly forward, the tip of the sword leading.   
  
Sasha snorted confidently and her hands snapped out directly for Ariel's throat with supernatural speed. But the girl reacted with equal quickness and dipped under the attack, driving upward with the sword. Sasha screamed in pain and outrage as the blade pierced her body and drove through her midsection. The female vampire stood transfixed with shock, impaled on two feet of naked steel.   
  
Ariel hardly paused, ripping the weapon free and kicking Sasha away. She chopped cleanly through the neck of a nearby minion, decapitating it, and charged fearlessly into a tight formation of more vampires, whirling the blade expertly through the air around her in a wall of flashing steel.   
  
Angel stood stunned by her inexplicable prowess, amazed by the fluidity and strength of her movements. No normal human should have been able to move like that. He had only a moment to contemplate, however, before a recovered Sasha tackled him. He caught her by the wrists, holding her claws just inches away from his face as she shoved him up against the wall.   
  
As he fought against her savage strength, the metal door to the club opened again and Wesley and Cordelia emerged from within.   
  
"Wesley, get her out of here!" Angel shouted as Sasha slammed him back against the wall again, "Now!"   
  
The former Watcher wasn't listening, however, as he stared dumbfounded at the sight of Ariel cutting efficient and graceful through the group of vampires. Next to him, Cordelia's slender jaw fell slack with equal disbelief.   
  
Angel absorbed a sharp punch from Sasha with his ribs, as he wrestled her into a more manageable grip and shoved her to the pavement.   
  
"Snap out of it Wesley!" he shouted, kicking his opponent in the chest as she started to rise, "Either help out or get back inside."   
  
Wesley blinked out of his daze and nodded dutifully, reaching into the inside pocket of his blazer and drawing a hand-sized, metal crossbow. Aiming it at a vampire's heart, point blank, he pulled the trigger. A muted twang sent a six-inch bolt thudding into the creature's chest. The projectile was small, barely a dart really, but it was enough to accomplish the job.   
  
With an airy wail, the fiend disintegrated, dropping the arrow to the street amid a scattering of grayish dust. Wesley wasted no time, reloading his crossbow and backing against the wall to prepare his next attack.   
  
Confident that Wesley would be able to protect Cordelia, Angel returned his attention to Ariel. The girl skillfully decapitated another vampire and took the hand from another as it reached for her. Her fighting prowess was impressive, but there were too many for her to take on alone.   
  
Ariel was becoming overwhelmed, surrounded by leering, snarling undead creatures. Two of them lunged from opposite sides, but she spun in a tight, desperate circle, killing one fiend and cracking the pommel of her sword into the face of the other. She quickly lopped off its head, then swiped her blade across the eyes of another, planting a solid kick into its midsection and driving it back.   
  
Seeming to appear out of nowhere, Dorian smashed a swift fist across the side of her face, throwing her head wide. She staggered and fell weakly to one knee at his feet, completely vulnerable to attack.   
  
Dashing forward, Angel kicked away a young vampire and backhanded a second as they attempted to block his way. He had to get to her before it was too late. Leaping high into the air, he kicked over Ariel's head and connected sharply with the Dorian's jaw, throwing the vampire back. Crouching beside Ariel, Angel placed his hands on her shoulders.   
  
"Come on, we've got to get you-" the rest of the sentence came out as a pained wheeze of air as she spun around and rammed the steel blade of her sword through his lung.   
  
She stared at him, standing frozen to the spot with the sword in her hand, her eyes wide and unblinking with shock.   
  
"Oh, my God." She gasped, her mouth trembling, "You're a vampire."   
  
Pain burned through his chest as she jerked the sword free and turned, running at top speed down the alley away from him.   
  
"Ariel, wait!" he called, holding one hand outstretched to her.   
  
Before he could take a step to pursue her, a solid impact took him between the shoulder blades and the pain sent him to his knees. Dorian towered over him with a malicious grin and a shard of jagged wood in his hand. With a sharp chop to the throat, he knocked Angel onto his back and dropped a knee into his chest, stunning him. The vampire baron pressed the pointed tip against Angel's chest at a point directly over his heart.   
  
"Nowhere to run this time, rogue." He laughed, leaning forward and pressing his weight behind the makeshift stake.   
  
* * *   
  
Wesley shot a wiry-limbed vampire through the heart and watched it disintegrate into a cloud of dust as he reloaded his crossbow. The attack had caught him totally unawares, coming far too quickly after he had barely finished his most recent opponent. But in the time he had been working for Angel, he had learned to adapt and, most importantly, to always be prepared. He was thankful that he'd had the foresight to bring the weapon along with him.   
  
"Why can't we ever just go out and have fun?!" Cordelia demanded shrilly, picking up a length of broken wood and jabbing with it to ward away a circling vampire, "Just once I'd like to have a night out where I didn't have to kill something."   
  
Wesley stepped across in front of her and cracked his fist into the vampire's face while its attention was occupied with her.   
  
"Let's just hope we don't end up being the ones killed." He replied, wincing and sucking on his swollen knuckle.   
  
"Dream on, little man." A woman's voice sneered disdainfully from behind him.   
  
Wesley's eyes snapped wide and he whirled, coming to face a tall, blonde vampire woman. She was dressed in close-fitting black, the fabric ripped and scuffed in places, and her hair fell past her shoulders in a wild golden mane. Her slightly slanted eyes pierced him like green fire, and a strange feeling overcame him, disrupting his attention. Scowling in concentration, he leveled the crossbow at her.   
  
The vampire woman continued to hold his gaze steady and fearless, showing no concern whatsoever for the wooden shaft aimed at her heart. Wesley swallowed nervously and shifted his grip on the crossbow, feeling oddly ill.   
  
"Go ahead, Englishman." The vampire challenged confidently, "Shoot me if you can."   
  
Wesley blinked and licked his lips, feeling the cool hardness of the brick wall press against his shoulder blades as he moved to take a step back.   
  
"Well, come on, Wesley!" Cordelia urged, "Hurry up and shoot her!"   
  
His finger trembled on the trigger and chill sweat beaded on his upper lip. He wanted to pull the trigger, he could imagine his brain sending the message down along the nerves of his arm to his finger, but nothing happened. Gritting his teeth, he tried harder, his hand shuddering wildly with the effort, but still he was powerless.   
  
"My sire taught me to use the glamour." The woman smiled wolfishly as she reached languidly for Wesley's throat, "Works real good on you English, as I recall."   
  
Wesley stared fearfully at the approaching talons, his entire body paralyzed and unable to resist.   
  
"Oh, give me that!" Cordelia snapped in annoyance, pulling the crossbow from his nerveless fingers.   
  
Raising it with two hands, she jammed her eyes shut and fired blindly. The small arrow thudded into the vampire's chest and she released a howl of rage and pain, falling to the ground and tugging violently at the embedded wood.   
  
"You missed the heart." Wesley gasped as he took back his weapon, in full command of himself again.   
  
"Hey, I could have taken the time to aim and just let her kill you." Cordelia rebutted, "It's been a while since I've used one of those things, alright?"   
  
As Wesley withdrew another arrow to finish the woman vampire, Cordelia looked over his shoulder and gasped in horror.   
  
Angel stood at the center of the alley, staring dumbfounded toward the open end as another blonde vampire, this one male, rushed past running straight for his unprotected back. The vampire raised a doubled fist and smashed it down over the back of Angel's neck with brutal force, dropping him. Flipping Angel's body over, he raised a sharp length of wood and positioned it over his heart.   
  
Fumbling desperately, Wesley struggled to load the crossbow in time to save his friend's life. The arrow refused to find the firing groove and tumbled from his fingers, clattering against the stained asphalt.   
  
"Wesley!" Cordelia cried tensely.   
  
He could only watch in horror as the vampire raised its weapon and prepared to end Angel's life. He had always known that this day might come. After all, Angel was ageless and his death would inevitably be a violent one. But after serving with the vampire these last months, he had hoped that he would never have to witness it.   
  
The blonde vampire jerked suddenly, the stake held high, and his body burst into a column of swirling gray ash.   
  
"Dorian!!" the vampire woman at Wesley's feet clambered awkwardly over the pavement, one hand still pulling at the arrow in her chest.   
  
Angel climbed quickly to his feet as she knelt over the dusty remains, her face twisted in anguish. Looking over her, he shot Wesley a questioning look. The former Watcher shrugged weakly in response, equally flabbergasted.   
  
Three men wearing trenchcoats appeared at the mouth of the alley, blocking it. The tallest stepped forward, neatly slipping a new arrow into his crossbow and cocking it with one hand.   
  
Angel recognized them immediately as the men who had attacked Ariel. The leader fastened gray eyes on him and a slight look of surprise registered on his face.   
  
"Well, look who it is." He smiled broadly, "I knew there was something different about you, guardian. It's a good thing I'm always prepared for vampires."   
  
Noah and Solomon drew stakes and flanked their leader. As the men moved toward him, Angel circled cautiously, his eyes locked on the crossbow.   
  
"Cover them." The leader commanded, snapping his hand toward Wesley and Cordelia without wavering his gaze from Angel, "The vampire is mine."   
  
Noah and Solomon obediently drew their pistols and backed them away from Angel and their leader.   
  
"And to think I thought you were human." The tattooed man sneered, "Here you are as obvious as Dracula himself, with your ever-obedient servant Renfield" he gestured to Wesley, "and, of course, the whore Lucy."   
  
"Hey!" Cordelia protested indignantly while unconsciously seeking cover from Noah's gun behind Wesley's shoulder.   
  
A low, angry growl sounded nearby as Sasha swept her hand sharply through the dust that had once been her lover and shifted her feet under her in a springy crouch.   
  
"I'll kill you!" she shrieked, leaping like a cat onto the tattooed man.   
  
Clawing and snarling, she drove him back against the wall. He cursed and struggled with her ferocity, fighting until he got a solid hold on her and lifted her lean-muscled body over his head.   
  
"Don't touch me, filthy beast!!" he roared, his face livid and flushed with outrage, "No vampire EVER touches me!!"   
  
With a harsh grunt, he spun and hurled her head-first into the wall and she crumpled into a still heap at its base. His body trembled uncontrollably and his eyes were wide and crazed-looking, locked on her fallen form. Slowly bringing his hand up to wipe a trickle of blood from his nose, he crouched and picked up a shard of wood from the ground.   
  
"No vampire ever touches me." He muttered, gripping the stake tightly in a white-knuckled fist, still staring fixedly at her unconscious form.   
  
Seizing the distraction, Angel tackled the man from behind. He spun around faster than Angel would have anticipated, displaying far greater speed than the first time they had fought, and caught the vampire's charge. The two went down together and as their full weights impacted the pavement, the jagged piece of wood jammed between them, piercing deeply into both their chests.   
  
"Angel!" Cordelia cried as she and Wesley rushed to his aid, ignoring the gun pointed in their direction.   
  
Wesley reached the fallen pair first, hauling Angel's limp form up in his arms. He groaned in pain as the stake remained buried in his chest and pulled free of the other man with a wet, sucking sound and a splash of crimson.   
  
Noah and Solomon holstered their guns and rushed over to the man in the tan trenchcoat.   
  
"Dammit, Kincaid, I knew this was a mistake." Solomon hissed quietly as he and his companion crouched and scooped their leader up between them.   
  
Wesley paused in dragging Angel to safety and stared at the other Englishman, his eyes alighting with sudden understanding.   
  
"Another time, vampire." The goateed man promised darkly, pointing a long finger at Angel as he draped one of the wounded man's arms over his shoulders.   
  
Wesley hiked his arms lower around Angel's torso and lifted him up, cautiously retreated into the branch alley with Cordelia at his side and watching as the two men opposite him did the same.   
  
While the six of them were occupied, the few remaining vampires gathered up Sasha's unconscious body and carried her away, leaving the alleyway empty.   
  
* * *   
  
Angel winced as Wesley and Cordelia eased his tense body back against his kitchen table. Wesley pressed his palms against his employer's shoulders to steady him while Cordy made a face and averted her eyes as she closed her hands tightly around the stake jutting from his chest. The sharp wood had come dangerously close to his heart and she did her best to hold it straight.   
  
"On three, then." Wesley nodded, planting his feet.   
  
Before Angel could prepare himself, Cordelia yanked on the wood and jerked it out of his flesh. He roared and lurched forward, dizzied from the pain, his hand pressed to the wound.   
  
"I-I thought . . . you were going to go . . . on three?" he gasped weakly.   
  
Wrinkling her nose distastefully at the bloodied stake, she discarded it and looked down at him with raised eyebrows.   
  
"Do you think I actually expected you to hold still for this?" she asked, "It had to be quick, you know, like a Band-Aid."   
  
Angel straightened and took a few unsteady steps, watching her over his shoulder with a mix of annoyance and appreciation.   
  
"This is a little bigger than a playground boo-boo."   
  
Wesley stepped between them, hands raised.   
  
"Near-fatal wounds aside." He interjected, "I may have managed to salvage something worthwhile from this debacle."   
  
Angel cautiously peeled off his shirt and pulled a roll of gauze out of a drawer. Leaning against the counter, he started dressing his wound.   
  
"What do you mean, Wesley?" he said without looking up, his lips tightening as he carefully pressed a layer of padding over the bloody hole in his chest.   
  
"Yeah," Cordelia scowled confusedly, "What's a debacle?"   
  
Angel started to answer her, then changed his mind and wisely closed his mouth to save himself the aggravation.   
  
Wesley straightened and propped his fists against his hips, smiling proudly, "I believe I've identified our three assailants."   
  
"Well?" Angel prompted expectantly.   
  
"The leader's name is Christian Kincaid." Wesley nodded, "I'm a bit shamed actually that I didn't recognize him sooner. His father was a Watcher, killed years ago in the line of duty when Christian was just a boy."   
  
"Guess it's bound to happen when you spend your life chasing vampires." Cordelia surmised, "You Watchers must pay humonguous life insurance premiums."   
  
Wesley paused to retrieve a cylindrical jar of ointment from the cupboard and handed it to Angel who accepted it appreciatively.   
  
"It's quite a tragic story actually." He continued, "Both father and son were part of a group that was captured by a most sadistic vampire and Christian was forced to watch as the man was tortured to death right in front of him. I believe he was only nine years old at the time."   
  
Cordelia folded her arms around her midsection and quirked an unsurprised expression.   
  
"Talk about traumatizing." she blew out a sigh of amazed disbelief, "No wonder the guy has obvious issues."   
  
"Indeed, it took the Slayer and an entire team of Watchers to rescue him." Wesley nodded in muted agreement, "Kincaid's gone on to become a very successful vampire hunter. A rogue, though. I don't think he ever really trusted the Council after his father's death. Plus, he's reported to have delved into some unsanctioned magic as a means to empower himself."   
  
"The tattoos." Angel realized gravely, worry deep in his eyes.   
  
"Yes, the runes enhance his strength, speed and resilience to superhuman proportions." Wesley reported, equally as worried, "But some believe the magic has affected his mind, unbalanced him. Which I am inclined to believe after what we witnessed tonight."   
  
Cordelia, on the other hand, appeared to be more intrigued than worried.   
  
"So what about his faithful sidekicks?" she sat back on Angel's loveseat and kicked up her feet, "Representatives from the local Evil union?"   
  
Rotating his arm to test the new bandages, Angel crossed the room to the window and peevishly pushed Cordelia's feet off his upholstery as he passed.   
  
"They aren't locals." He commented, "And they were familiar with vampires. As soon as they saw what I am, they knew what to do."   
  
Wesley sighed tiredly and sat down, nodding affirmation, "John Solomon and Noah Fletcher. Although I've never met them, they're former colleagues of mine, Watchers who were lured away from their calling by Kincaid years ago."   
  
"Okay," Cordelia regarded him archly, "if you're so smart, then what about Ariel turning all Van-Damme all of a sudden? Have you ever seen anyone move like that?"   
  
Angel flinched sharply, knocking a small, decorative statuette from the sill. The tiny object clattered against the floor, jarring his nerves and setting his teeth on edge.   
  
"I have." He stated, a tight, trembling tension in his voice, "Buffy."   
  
Wesley stood up, his mouth agape in shock.   
  
"A Slayer?" he gasped, "But that would mean . . ."   
  
"She's not a Slayer." Angel snapped, turning sharply away from the window, "She can't be."   
  
There had to be another explanation. He refused to entertain the possibility of there being a new Slayer or, even worse, the implication of what that meant for Buffy.   
  
Unfortunately, Cordelia proved to be voice enough for his fear.   
  
"Let's take a look at the clues we have so far." She considered, sitting forward on the loveseat and extending one finely-manicured finger, "Girl meets vampires. Girl slays vampires with, like, terminator efficiency."   
  
Angel stared at her in stony silence while Wesley looked on with equal blankness.   
  
"Slays? Vampires?" She extended a second finger and raised her eyebrows in sarcastic question at the two men, "Am I the only one here that sees a positive ID?"   
  
Angel's troubled frown deepened and his mouth became hard and thin. She was right, the evidence did seem fairly conclusive, but he still did not want to believe it. If Ariel was a Slayer, then it would explain the strange familairity he had experienced from her, as well as the reason his primal instincts had been resurfacing recently, an unconscious response to a vampire's natural enemy. Cold, uncertain fear turned painfully in his stomach.   
  
"Ariel may not be Buffy's successor." Wesley suggested hopefully, "Perhaps Faith met with some sort of accident. Those sorts of things do tend to happen in prison. Which begs me to wonder whether this new Slayer may have followed her misguided path and gone rogue."   
  
Angel wasn't really listening anymore. He was in no mood for platitudes, what he needed were answers. Going straight for the phone on his desk, he grabbed up the receiver and started dialing.   
  
"It would certainly go a long way toward explaining Fletcher and Solomon's involvement," Wesley continued thoughtfully, "although I'm not sure how Kincaid fits into all this. Blast it, I wish I still had contact with some of the seers on the Council."   
  
Angel let the phone ring eighteen times before he slammed down the receiver in irritation.   
  
"Wesley, keep calling Giles until you get through." He commanded, pulling his shirt back on over his head, "Make sure everything's alright."   
  
He went for the door, every inch of his body filled with anxiety. It probably wasn't going to do any good, but his mind whirled with panic, he couldn't just sit around and wait. Not if she might be dead.   
  
"Where are you going?" Wesley asked.   
  
"I've got to find Ariel." He asserted resolutely, accepting her offer and stuffing it into his pocket.   
  
"Here, take this." Cordelia intercepted him and pressed her cell phone into his hands as a precautionary measure, "And CALL if you get in trouble this time, okay?"   
  
As he opened the door to leave, Wesley tilted the other phone away from his ear and reflexively covered the mouthpiece.   
  
"Be careful." He warned, "Now that Kincaid knows what you are, he'll be hunting you."   
  
"He's right." Cordelia added, taking hold of his arm in concern, "And here's something else to consider. If Ariel really is a Slayer, then how is she supposed to know you're not one of the bad vampires? I mean she did stab you before she took off, right?"   
  
Angel understood their concerns. Going out alone under these conditions was hardly a prudent decision, but prudence was not at the forefront of his mind at the moment.   
  
"I can't afford to worry about any of that now." He called over his shoulder as he raced down the hallway, "I've got to find out what's going on."   
  
* * *   
  
The door to the modest hotel room slammed open and the two men rushed inside, dragging the body of a third. He hung weakly between them by his arms, his head bowed and his limbs dangling. They had come into the building through one of the side exits, there would have been too many questions to deal with if they had carried the blood-stained figure through the lobby. Together, the men laid their leader carefully across one of the beds and shut the door behind them.   
  
Solomon bit his lip worriedly, staring at the mess of blood covering Kincaid's chest, oozing from a dark-bruised hole. The man's flesh was alarmingly pale, making the azure runes stand out starkly in contrast, but his chest still rose and fell almost imperceptibly with the signs of clinging life.   
  
"How bad do you think it is?" he asked the other man.   
  
"Don't know." Noah replied shortly, perching in a chair near the foot of the bed and fixing Kincaid's still form with a grim stare, "I'm not a doctor."   
  
"Do you think he's going to die?" Solomon pondered quietly.   
  
As Noah cocked his head and shrugged slightly, Kincaid's gray eyes snapped open and he sat up sharply with a wince.   
  
"I'm not going to die." He grumbled, pressing his palm to the wound in his chest and rubbing.   
  
Solomon and Noah looked to each other in disbelief. With some of the blood smeared away, the wound didn't look nearly as bad as it had just ten minutes ago. It appeared to be healing at an impossible rate.   
  
"How?" Solomon gaped, running his fingers agitatedly through his short, dark hair.   
  
"The runes." Kincaid grunted, slinging his legs over the edge of the bed and standing stiffly, "I'm stronger than ever now. It will take more than a piece of wood to kill me."   
  
He went immediately to the nightstand and pulled open the drawer. Retrieving the metal box inside, he laid out the glass vial of ink and the silver stylus tine.   
  
"What are you doing?" Noah scowled, watching Kincaid's movements and stroking his goatee in thought.   
  
"We're going after her again." Christian decreed in a tight voice, leaning heavily on the nightstand and applying the beginnings of a new set of runes to his upper arm, "Just as soon as I get my strength back."   
  
Solomon's forehead creased, "You've got to be kidding."   
  
"We can't afford to waste any more time." Kincaid hissed in annoyance.   
  
"Relax, Christian." Noah scoffed, "We still have time. Besides, why should we be worried, she's not even a vampire."   
  
"Not yet." He snapped over his shoulder as he finished the first rune's outline, "But she's already made contact with one. We only have one more day before it will be too late."   
  
"There could be another more pressing problem." Noah intoned ominously, "The vampire, I recognized him."   
  
"You did?" Kincaid paused in tracing another rune across his shoulder, his knuckles tight from the pain.   
  
Noah went to the nightstand and began unloading various weapons from his trenchcoat, dropping the items onto the pressed wood top with a series of hollow clunks.   
  
"Yes." The goateed man nodded gravely, "It took me a moment to recognize him, but it could have been no other. Angelus."   
  
Solomon scowled in confusion.   
  
"But the Slayer destroyed him a year and a half ago." He argued, "She cast him into the mouth of Acathla."   
  
"It was him." Noah remarked assuredly, "I don't know how, but it was."   
  
Christian sucked air wetly through his teeth as another rune seared itself into his flesh.   
  
"Angelus is reported to be a solitary hunter by nature." He noted, his voice low and dangerous, "But tonight he was in the company of others, the same ones he was with the first time."   
  
"Vampire vassals?" Solomon suggested worriedly.   
  
"No, they were both human," Noah turned and started reflexively disassembling and cleaning a shining handgun, "but most definitely under his sway."   
  
Solomon circled around beside Kincaid, looking to meet the other man's gaze.   
  
"Perhaps we shouldn't move on him just yet, then." He suggested softly, "Our information is obviously out of date. And the runes, they worry me. You've never really found out what sort of long term effects they might have."   
  
Kincaid ignored him, his gray eyes boring holes into the desktop as he applied another sigil.   
  
"It doesn't matter." He growled, low and barely audible, "I'll do whatever it takes to destroy that vampire."   
  
Solomon pursed his lips with greater worry.   
  
"But why does he maintain such an elaborate benevolent front?" He commented astutely, "He had a soul once. What if he's gotten it back again somehow? I can't see any other reason for him to be helping the girl. Perhaps we should conduct some more reconnaissance before we proceed."   
  
Christian's hand snapped up faster than either of the two men could follow and collided with Solomon's jaw, throwing the small man all the way to the wall. Solomon staggered and sank to the floor, stunned, staring at Kincaid with hurt and accusing eyes.   
  
Christian ignored his reaction with angry disdain.   
  
"Vampires must be destroyed at all costs!" he barked, jabbing the silver tine toward him, "Our time is limited. If you aren't strong enough to stay dedicated to the cause, then I don't need you. Understand, Mister Solomon?"   
  
Sitting up slowly, Solomon licked a swollen cut on his lip and swallowed, his face flushed and his pulse thudding rapidly.   
  
"I understand." He replied slowly, gingerly rubbing at his jaw, "Mister Kincaid."   
  
"Good." Christian nodded and went back to adorning his upper arms, "Noah, I need you to bring in some heavy artillery. Tomorrow night, we kill Angelus AND the girl."   
  
* * *   
  
Angel returned to the ground floor of the office feeling frustrated and angry. Frustrated because he had failed to find any sign of Ariel. Angry because he knew that even if he had, it still would not have set his mind at ease. Damn her for bringing up the whole issue of a possible new Slayer.   
  
Shoving the door open with more force than was necessary, he walked inside.   
  
Cordelia raised her eyebrows and tilted her head in his direction, but remained prudently silent as he stalked past her.   
  
"Where's Wesley?" he asked without even looking at her.   
  
"Hello to you, too." She remarked, mildly annoyed, "Same place he's been since you left, on the phone."   
  
Angel went directly to the other room. In the back of his mind, he felt sorry for being so terse with Cordelia, but he couldn't deal with that now, not until he knew for sure. He found Wesley holding a hardcover book open in his hands with the phone receiver pinned between his shoulder and ear.   
  
"Well, yes, thank you." He told the person on the other end of the line, "I appreciate your help. Thank you, goodbye."   
  
He hung up the phone and turned toward Angel.   
  
"Well?" the vampire prompted anxiously.   
  
"Good news." Wesley beamed, "I got through to Giles and then checked with the LA prison records. Both Slayers are alive."   
  
Angel relaxed instantly, the tension visibly draining out of his body. She was still alive. Thank God. Utterly relieved, he wandered back out into the main room.   
  
Wesley followed thoughtfully behind him.   
  
"Well, that rules out one frightening possibility, at least." He noted then frowned slightly in consternation, passing the main door and turning his back to it, "Although it also exhausts my one theory on the origin of Ariel's powers. You didn't find her?"   
  
Angel shook his head and stopped next to the man, frowning pensively toward Cordelia.   
  
"No." He answered shortly, "I went back to the alley and tried to track her from there, but I couldn't find any sign of her."   
  
"No big surprise." Cordelia quirked an ironic smirk and pointed covertly over his shoulder, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "She's right behind you."   
  
Angel and Wesley both started sharply, spinning around and raising their hands defensively. Ariel stood meekly in the doorway, leaning against the jam, totally still with Sasha's Japanese katana in her hand.   
  
"I come in peace." She offered, placing the sword tip-down and leaning it against the wall then raising her hands in surrender with a weak smile, "I promise not to stab you this time."   
  
"Why are you here?" Angel asked shortly, allowing his fists to unclench and fall to his sides.   
  
He still had a little residual irrational anger toward her from earlier. While none of it could have been her fault, he had been ready to blame her for Buffy's death. His emotions weren't yet completely over the shock.   
  
"Look, I didn't mean to jet on you during the fight." She apologized, misinterpreting his gruffness, "I just sort of freaked when I saw that you were, well, you know. But I had to come back. To warn you about Kincaid."   
  
"Too late." Angel told her, "But I'm not worried. He took a stake in the chest tonight. Even if he's still alive, he's not going anywhere for a while."   
  
"You're wrong." She shook her head softly, "He's so jacked up on rune magic now, he could get hit by a bus and walk away whistling. A hole in the chest won't lay him out for more than a few hours, tops. You have to get out of here."   
  
Angel shook his head shortly in stubborn refusal, "If he wants a piece of me, then he's welcome to try. No one's chasing me out of my city."   
  
Wesley took a seat next to Cordelia in an unspoken gesture of support for his decision.   
  
"You don't understand." Ariel looked up at Angel with worry deep in her eyes, "The only way to survive an encounter with Christian Kincaid is to run."   
  
He watched her impassively for a moment, reading the tiny clues her posture and the timbre of her voice betrayed. She was scared of Kincaid, terrified actually, and she couldn't comprehend how another person wouldn't feel the same.   
  
"Is that what you're doing?" he asked softly, "Running? He claims to be a vampire hunter, so why is he after you?"   
  
She walked into the room, crossing the threshold for the first time since she had reappeared, and gently took Angel's hand in both of hers. Holding his eyes with solemn seriousness, she lifted it and laid his palm against her chest, over the top of her left breast.   
  
He shifted uncomfortably, embarrassed by the gesture, until he realized. At first he thought she had no heartbeat at all, but then it thumped like a soft, velvety cushion under his palm. He silently counted off twelve seconds in his head before he felt it again.   
  
Releasing her, he stepped back.   
  
"What are you?"   
  
Now it was the girl's turn to become uncomfortable. She hung her head a little and peered down at the toes of her black shoes.   
  
"I'm Dhampyre." She revealed quietly   
  
Cordelia frowned in confusion, "You're related to that guy with the flute?"   
  
"Dhampyre, Cordelia, not Zamfir." Wesley corrected, rising quickly to his feet and approaching Ariel, "It's another word for half-vampire. But that's not possible. Vampires can't bear children, at least not in the way that humans do."   
  
"You're right." Ariel agreed, "My grandmother told me that I was born human, but a vampire kidnapped me and started feeding me his blood. By the time my mother finally rescued me, I was already starting to change."   
  
"Dear God," Wesley gasped, "You're the daughter of Merideth Black."   
  
Reflexively, he turned to Angel and Cordelia to explain.   
  
"One of the more renowned Slayers of the past century." He revealed, "Her vampire nemesis captured both her Watcher and her newborn daughter and lured her into a trap. She died saving the girl's life."   
  
Angel nodded softly in understanding, seating himself on the edge of Cordelia's desk.   
  
"And I'm guessing that girl was you." He directed at Ariel.   
  
"Bingo." She nodded, "That's one of the reasons Kincaid is so hot to put me six feet under."   
  
"And the other?" Angel lifted his brows slightly in question.   
  
"Kincaid's father was my mother's Watcher. Christian blames her for his death and so I get to be the target of what they call 'rage transference'."   
  
"But why is he only coming after you now?" Wesley wondered, "With Noah and Solomon at his disposal, he would have known about your existence long ago."   
  
Ariel's face turned hard and she folded her slender arms against her midsection.   
  
"Tomorrow's my twenty-first birthday, remember?" She answered with a hint of disdain, "Kincaid's convinced that I'm going to turn into some kind of super monster at the stroke of midnight tonight."   
  
Wesley's mouth quirked and he stroked his jaw in consideration, his professional interest piqued.   
  
"His theory may not be too far off the mark." He mentioned cautiously, "Traditionally, in a person of mixed lineage, the twenty-first birthday is when any extraordinary traits manifest."   
  
Ariel's eyes narrowed and she scowled at him.   
  
"My life is already extraordinary." She snapped testily, "That's just a story Kincaid is pushing so he can get away with murder."   
  
Angel stood up sharply and pushed off from Cordelia's desk, his brow furrowed with intensity.   
  
"You won't have to worry about him much longer." He said, going to a large, carved-wood cabinet and opening it.   
  
Inside was an assortment of his usual weapons, ranging from wooden stakes housed in retractable wrist sheaths to various meticulously-sharpened bladed weapons. Over the years, he had trained himself to become adept with all of them. Tonight that training would be put to the test.   
  
"Angel, however enhanced Kincaid has become, he's still human." Wesley advised, disconcerted by the vehemence of his friend's declaration, "You can't just deal with him the same way you would a vampire or demon."   
  
"I know." He nodded, "I got it covered."   
  
"I don't think I follow you." Cordelia cocked her head, attempting to peer around his shoulder, "Unless you've been hiding a pound of kryptonite in there."   
  
He lifted three sets of metal handcuffs out of the cabinet and stuffed a pair of odd-looking, metallic cylinders deep into the pockets of his jacket then took a police nightstick in hand.   
  
Cordelia raised her eyebrows in amazement, "What did you do, mug a riot cop?"   
  
The vampire turned to her with a half-apologetic shrug, "Well . . . actually, yeah. But he started it."   
  
Ariel appeared next to him and took hold of the nightstick.   
  
"If you're going after Kincaid, I'm going with you." She declared resolutely.   
  
Angel pulled the weapon away from her and shook his head, "Forget it."   
  
"He's right, Ariel." Wesley agreed supportively, "You should stay somewhere safe until Angel deals with him."   
  
Ariel cocked her head toward the Englishman and advanced slowly, sauntering up and laying a gentle hand against his cheek.   
  
"That's cute, you know, the two of you trying to protect me, but I already told you what I think of Kincaid's story." She shifted her hand down to his chest and shoved him back into a chair with stiff fingers, "These clowns have been hunting me for months now and I'm tired of running. If Angel's brave enough to face him, then so am I."   
  
"That's not the point." Angel added, "You won't want to be around when I go for round three against Kincaid and his pals. It'll be safer here. Trust me."   
  
Ariel scowled, displeased, but didn't argue anymore.   
  
"Are you sure you want to go alone?" Wesley asked, rising to his feet again.   
  
Angel nodded resolutely and tossed the nightstick to him.   
  
"You were right, Wesley. I can't fight these men the same way I fight demons, but I can handle the disadvantage. With the power he's got now, you can't. Stay here, keep an eye on things. You too, Cordelia, if you don't mind."   
  
"Sure, I live to serve." She replied wryly, "It's not like I didn't already blow off a potential man of my dreams to run to your rescue tonight or anything. Who needs a life?"   
  
Wesley watched as she settled down behind her computer and opened up a game of solitaire with a bored sigh.   
  
"Don't wait up." Angel went for the door and paused, his hand resting on the knob, and looked back over his shoulder, "One way or another, this ends tonight."   
  
* * *   
  
Wesley stared at the pages of one of his books without really paying attention to the text, toying idly with the nightstick Angel had given him. Nearby, Ariel crouched in the seat of Angel's chair, tightly hugging her knees and rocking slowly.   
  
She looked so small curled up like that, almost childlike. Her chin rested on her knees and her face was unusually pale and strained as she stared blankly straight ahead. The stress was getting to her, no doubt. He felt fairly keyed up himself, despite his experience with situations similar to tonight's.   
  
It was strange to think of her now that he knew who she was. The story of Meredith Black was something of a legend to him, a fantastical tale that he had always considered to be just that, a tale. But Ariel was undeniable proof, right in the same office as him. The daughter of a Slayer infected with the blood of a vampire. The two powers were antithetical, a contradiction of light and darkness, and yet the girl herself seemed surprisingly well adjusted save for a few minor, physical side-effects.   
  
"Are you feeling alright?" he asked in concern, setting the nightstick aside.   
  
"Yeah, I'm fine." She replied with a wince, "Stomach's just all tied up. Nerves, that's all."   
  
Instinctively, he pulled a small, plastic bottle of aspirin out of his coat pocket. Since he had first started working for Angel, he'd learned to always keep some handy.   
  
"Here, do you want something for it?" he popped the top off the bottle and offered it to her.   
  
"I said I'm fine." She snapped irritably, shoving the bottle away.   
  
He backed off a step, disconcerted, and slipped the pills back into his pocket without a word.   
  
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and sighed raggedly, shaking her head.   
  
"Look, I'm sorry about that." She apologized, pressing her hand tiredly to her forehead, "It's the stomach thing. I'm not really big on gut-wrenching pain, you know?"   
  
"No, it's all right." He assured her, affecting a relaxed posture for her benefit, "We're all a little nervous."   
  
It was still early in the night, but he was worried for Angel. After seeing Christian in action and knowing of his well-deserved reputation for killing vampires, he wondered if letting Angel go alone hadn't been a mistake. No, someone had to stay with Ariel on the off chance that Christian or his henchmen managed to find where they were hiding her and came hunting. But he still couldn't help but feel a little helpless. Maybe Cordelia had heard something.   
  
"I'll just be in the next room." He told Ariel, pausing in the doorway on his way to the main room, "Let me know if you need anything."   
  
She nodded slightly in response, distracted by her own pensive thoughts, and he wandered back into the reception area of the office. Cordelia was gone, no doubt having gotten bored and gone back to her apartment. As he passed her desk, he folded his arms over his chest and started staring out the window. Almost midnight. Angel had been gone for just a little over an hour. He wondered if he had found Kincaid yet. Until the madman was brought to justice, Ariel would never be safe.   
  
From what he recalled, the Watchers had rarely spoken of Ariel or Kincaid, choosing to follow their usual edict in dealing with past disgraces. Namely, admit knowledge internally and then only in the most guarded of circumstances. Since moving to LA, he rarely missed his old job, he realized.   
  
The elevator whirred and rose to the main floor and Cordelia stepped out with a bag of cookies in her hand. She seated herself at her desk and set the bag in front of her, opening the top and peering inside.   
  
"Aren't you supposed to be keeping watch on Ariel?" she reminded him, digging out a chocolate cookie, "I didn't think it would be that tough to convince you. No wonder Angel left me in charge."   
  
"I just can't help wondering what Angel's getting himself into." Wesley frowned and checked his watch, "And what do you mean 'left you in charge'?"   
  
"Well, you've been acting like a total space cadet since he left." She pointed out, while carefully sampling the edge of the cookie, "I was only downstairs for, like, twenty minutes and you're already flaking out on me."   
  
"What were you doing down there anyway?"   
  
"I got peckish. Finding actual food in Angel's apartment is harder than you'd think." She explained, venturing a larger bite, "Mm, still fresh. You want one?"   
  
Wesley declined with a distasteful face, "Thank you, no. I'll be fine."   
  
"So how's she doing?" Cordelia inquired from her chair around a dainty yawn.   
  
"A little sick to her stomach." He commented, "And a bit touchy. Possibly experiencing some womanly problems."   
  
Cordelia groaned and fixed him with a tried stare, closing the bag again and setting it aside.   
  
"Why do guys always assume that if a girl is edgy it's from PMS? She's probably had, like, ten cups of coffee in the last two hours, not to mention the crazed killer that's after her. I'd be about ready to toss my lunch too if I was her."   
  
Wesley's eyes wandered back to the window again with concern.   
  
"Well, hopefully everything will right itself again once Angel deals with Kincaid."   
  
"Let's hope so. Any more of these late nights and I can kiss the pathetic excuse I have for a social life goodbye. Remind me to put in for overtime."   
  
A wail of pain sounded from Ariel in the next room and both Wesley and Cordelia ran in to see her. She was curled tightly in the chair with her arms wrapped around her midsection and a pained expression on her face.   
  
"Ariel, what's wrong?" Wesley crouched down next to her.   
  
"It's no big deal." Ariel insisted between gritted teeth as she forced herself into an upright sitting position, "It's just my stomach. I'm fine - aughh!"   
  
Her body jerked and knotted up, her face twisting in pain as she slumped forward in the chair.   
  
"This is not just stomach cramps." Cordelia declared, going for the phone, "I'm calling an ambulance."   
  
"No!" Ariel jumped up in alarm and limped toward her, favoring her midsection and gasping for breath, "No doctors. I'll be . . . fine. I just . . . need to lay down."   
  
Cordelia regarded her skeptically as Wesley caught her around the waist and kept her from falling, supporting the majority of her weight with one arm.   
  
"She's right." He agreed, pressing the phone's receiver back into the cradle, "There will be too many unwelcome questions about her condition if we let a doctor examine her."   
  
"So what do you suggest, bedrest and chicken soup?" Cordelia arched a wry, chestnut eyebrow at him.   
  
Wesley cocked his head slightly, looking completely innocent.   
  
"That's actually quite a smashing idea, Cordelia." He congratulated, bending low and preparing to scoop Ariel's slight weight into his arms, "Come now, off to bed with you."   
  
"I told you I'll be fine." Ariel shoved him away weakly and her breath caught in her throat as another wave of pain wracked her body. She clutched her abdomen, bent over and taught with pain.   
  
Cordelia crossed her arms and tapped her foot, watching the other girl patiently.   
  
When Wesley offered a second time, Ariel reluctantly straightened and allowed him to lift her up.   
  
"Thanks, Wes." She dropped her head limply against his shoulder with a weak groan, "You're a doll."   
  
Cordelia scooted back out into the main room and pulled a plastic bowl out from under the coffee machine, handing it to Wesley as he emerged from the inner office. Shifting his grip on Ariel, he accepted it with two fingers and raised, questioning eyebrows.   
  
"You know, in case she . . ." Cordelia continued her thought by miming a forceful, projectile explosion from her mouth with her hand.   
  
Wesley's expression soured slightly in distaste.   
  
"Hmm, yes, right." He nodded uneasily, "Thank you."   
  
Stepping into the elevator and allowing Cordelia to close the cage behind him, he punched the button awkwardly with his elbow. The car lurched and descended slowly into the floor. When it stopped, he shoved the cage open with his foot and carried Ariel into Angel's bedroom.   
  
She groaned and gritted her teeth as he gently laid her down, closing her eyes tightly and curling her body into a fetal position. He briefly considered getting her to put on bedclothes, but decided against it. She hardly looked able to walk at the moment, let alone dress herself. Tugging the top of the sheets out from under her body, he draped them over her. As an afterthought, he set the plastic bowl on the nightstand, just as a precaution.   
  
He hoped a rest would help her feel better. If the need for a hospital arose, he couldn't imagine how the doctors would react to the peculiarities of her particular physiology. For the moment, all he could do was wait. Settling himself into the most comfortable position he could in a nearby chair, he folded his hands together in his lap and prepared himself for a long night of watchfulness.   
  
As he sat, he realized how deathly quiet the apartment was, the silence punctuated only by faint, pained sounds from Ariel and the distant chiming of a clock.   
  
"Wesley?" Ariel asked quietly, her eyes closed.   
  
He leaned forward attentively in his chair and took her small hand in his, "I'm here, Ariel."   
  
She rolled over and opened her eyes, sitting up slowly on the edge of the bed without a trace of pain.   
  
"Are you feeling better?" he asked, hopefully.   
  
"Yeah, thanks." She smiled briefly, tucking her hair behind her ear then adding her hand to the outside of his, "It's sweet of you to ask."   
  
She peered up at him and held his gaze with strange intensity and more direct interest than she had ever shown before, her smile still evident in the crystal-blue irises of her eyes.   
  
"You know, I'll be leaving soon." She mentioned, tilting her head and pressing her lips together to moisten them.   
  
Wesley's eyes darted down nervously to where her delicate fingertips had begun to trace back and forth over the hills and valleys of his knuckles. He could feel an intense flush rising to his cheeks as a result of her unexpected attention.   
  
"Y-Yes." he cleared his throat uncomfortably, his attention absorbed with the tickling caress of her hand against his, "I'd rather expected to be saying good-bye soon. Angel's very efficient with these sorts of matters."   
  
Yes, remind her about Angel, he counseled himself. Perhaps then she would stop being so friendly and his mind wouldn't be so cluttered with distracting thoughts.   
  
"You've both been really great." She agreed with a winsomely attractive smile, "You especially. And I'd like to thank you for being so nice to me."   
  
She walked her fingers slowly up the length of his arm to his shoulder and his entire body stiffened in response. What was she doing? She couldn't possibly be talking about . . .? No, of course not. While his sense of logic wasn't operating at one hundred percent at the moment, he knew better than to imagine that Ariel had manifested such a strong attraction to him so suddenly.   
  
She climbed into his lap and he pulled back uncertainly.   
  
"What are you doing?" he questioned skeptically, flinching as her fingers curled around the back of his neck and a sharp current of pleasure shot down his spine.   
  
"Saying thank you." She murmured, brushing her lips along his jaw and blowing warm breath across the side of his neck.   
  
He squirmed, half from nervous discomfort, half from excitement. Something was definitely wrong, but it was so hard to think clearly with her body pressed against him.   
  
"Ariel, wait, this isn't right." He took hold of her shoulders, pushing her back.   
  
His mouth dropped open in shock the instant he saw her face. In a shocking instant, the attraction he felt for her was replaced by something completely different. Fear.   
  
No longer the innocent girl who had remanded herself into Angel's protection, she looked to him now like a woman possessed. The soft blue of her eyes had become a piercing shade of yellow and her petite mouth curled into a predatory leer.   
  
It was after midnight, the beginning of Ariel's twenty-first birthday, and her dark heritage had finally asserted itself. She was a demon now, worlds apart from the person she had been only ten short minutes ago, and he was utterly defenseless.   
  
What a fool he'd been. He'd had full knowledge of what she could potentially become and yet he had completely misinterpreted the warning signs. A few simple precautions might easily have saved him from this dangerous predicament.   
  
She shoved him back into the chair and toppled it, spilling them both to the floor. On impact, he cried out and tried to struggle, but her strength had become monstrous and he was unable to resist as she straddled him and pinned him down.   
  
"What's the matter, Wes?" she growled, gripping a handful of his hair with steely fingers, "Don't you want me?"   
  
She jerked his head forcefully to the side, darted in and bit down hard on his neck. Snarling like a ravenous fiend, she clamped her teeth against the flesh and pulled but drew no blood. Her teeth were still blunt, herbivorous, human teeth and she ground them back and forth, growling in frustration when they didn't pierce.   
  
"Ariel, please . . ." he gasped in pain, ". . . don't . . ."   
  
She answered with a sharp, muffled snarl and a sharp jerk with her teeth. The skin of his throat finally broke, spilling blood down his neck and onto the floor. Ariel growled ravenously and drew on the wound, lapping at the hot, sticky blood. Her body bucked suddenly and she sat up, jerking back off him and shoving him away.   
  
Wesley sat up and pressed his hand against the oozing wound on the side of his neck, watching her cautiously. She knelt on the floor, visibly trembling, a thin smear of his blood marring her lips. She touched it with a shaking hand, holding red-stained fingers up in front of her face. Her yellow eyes darted back and forth between Wesley's face and the blood on her fingertips, wide and disturbed.   
  
Wesley's brow furrowed in perplexed thought. Ariel's behavior had changed again, it seemed. The savagery that had possessed her moments ago was gone, replaced by what appeared to be panic.   
  
"Wesley?" she gasped fearfully, her bottom lip trembling as her eyes wandered to the blood on his throat, "What's happening to me?"   
  
Instinctively, he moved to reach out to her but hesitated. The changes taking place with her had obviously left her mind in turmoil and there was no telling how long she would be able to retain control of herself.   
  
"It's okay," he assured her, "We're going to get you some help."   
  
He meant every word, but in truth, he had no idea how he was supposed to do that. As far as he knew, there had never been a dhampyre on record, the term having originated in legend alone. There was no way of predicting what kind of continuing changes she would be faced with. But he still had to try.   
  
Reaching out, he took hold of her arms, both as an offer of comfort and as an attempt to protect himself from any further outbursts of savagery.   
  
"No!" she forcefully slapped his hands aside and lurched back, eyes livid with fright.   
  
Wesley shrank back instinctively, his hands throbbing with pain where she had struck him.   
  
Ariel crouched, breathing with shallow, primal pants and her head darted around in search of an avenue of escape. Instinctively, she stopped, sensing the opening beneath Angel's sewer hatch.   
  
"I'm sorry." She whispered, shooting him one last regretful glance as she scrambled to her feet and fled for the hatch, "I have to go."   
  
Ripping open the exit with uncanny strength, she dropped through and out of sight.   
  
Wesley sat up and climbed to his feet, breathing tensely as warm blood oozed down the side of his neck, staining the collar of his shirt with dark crimson. His heart thumped wildly in his chest and he felt light-headed with shock.   
  
Staggering unsteadily for the phone, he paused and leaned against the wall for a moment to catch his breath. He had to contact Angel immediately. Ariel's transformation could be as much a threat to herself as to those around her. Not to mention that, alone in the city, she made a much easier target for Christian and his hunters.   
  
Picking up the phone, he traced his finger down a list of numbers and started dialing. He could only hope that Angel would find her before Kincaid did.   
  
* * *   
  
The phone in Angel's coat pocket vibrated wildly. He remembered he had turned off the ringer in the interest of stealth, but it obviously had an alternate setting.   
  
Fishing it out, he flipped it open and put it to his ear. Static surged for a moment and then a voice sounded from the other end.   
  
"Angel?"   
  
"Wesley, what's going on?" Angel asked, recognizing the voice instantly.   
  
"Nothing good, I'm afraid." He answered, "We have a problem."   
  
"Just one?" the vampire snorted, peering over the edge of the rooftop to the street below, "That would be nice for a change. Exactly which problem are you referring to?"   
  
"It's Ariel." Wesley replied worriedly, "She's run off."   
  
"What?!" Angel ran his hand roughly through his hair and began to pace, "What happened? I thought you and Cordelia were watching her."   
  
There was an uncomfortable pause before Wesley answered.   
  
"Well, yes, we were." A wave of static faded in momentarily and Angel had to strain to hear, "But something's changed. She's . . . changed."   
  
"What are you talking about?"   
  
"Her vampire half surfaced, just like I was afraid it might. I tried to stop her, but she attacked me and fled into the sewers."   
  
"Are you hurt?" he asked over another flash of interference.   
  
"I'll manage, but it's not me I'm worried about." Wesley's voice grew tense, "She's confused and frightened, Angel, and there's no telling what sort of power she's manifested. She could be a serious danger to herself and others."   
  
Angel accepted the information grimly, silently cursing the inconvenient timing of this newest dilemma. Kincaid would have to wait. Ariel needed help and, unlike Christian, she posed a potential threat to more than just vampires.   
  
"It's likely that she'll seek out somewhere she feels safe." Wesley continued.   
  
"Her apartment." Angel deduced, following the former Watcher's thinking.   
  
"It's in a building over on the corner of West and Third. Suite ten-nineteen."   
  
Angel slipped over the edge of the roof and slid nimbly, one-handed, down the fire escape ladder.   
  
"I'm not far from there now." He reported, dropping to the next landing and then to the street below, "Keep an ear on the police scanner in case something comes up on either her or Kincaid."   
  
"Right."   
  
Wesley hung up and Angel stuffed Cordelia's phone back into his pocket. West and Third was only a few blocks away and agitation quickened his pace. It took less than five minutes for him to reach it.   
  
The building was one of LA's nicer structures, standing roughly twelve stories high with artistic stonework ledges around the perimeter of each floor and tall, arching windows set at regular intervals. The bricks seemed more like giant cubes of tan-colored rock that had been carved specifically for this one structure, fitting perfectly at odd angles wherever the architecture dictated.   
  
He entered through a pair of thick, leaded-glass doors in the front and chose to ignore the stairs in favor of the speed of the elevator. The trip up to the tenth floor seemed to take forever and the fair-sized elevator began to feel like a cage to him. Being forced into inactivity when there was danger always made him tense.   
  
When the elevator stopped and the doors slowly eased open, he stepped quickly into the hallway. Tooled brass nameplates directed him toward the wing that contained suite ten-nineteen.   
  
He found the door closed but not latched. Someone had been inside recently. The lights were off inside and, leaning his ear close, he heard no sound of movement.   
  
Angel hesitated outside the doorway. While the door was ajar, he wouldn't be able to step inside without an invitation. On the other hand, whatever changes Ariel had been undergoing might very well have rescinded that requirement. As he reached to push the door in, he almost hoped to meet a barrier.   
  
He found only a brief, odd resistance and entered without incident. So Wesley's theory had been correct. Vampires needed no permission the abodes of others of their own kind. He never would have been able to enter the home of a full-blooded human. The traits of Ariel's undead lineage were rapidly manifesting.   
  
The apartment was pitch dark and quiet as a tomb, but Angel's eyes needed no light to see. While sparsely furnished, it was a surprisingly large place, more than he would have expected a struggling actress to be able to afford.   
  
He closed the door behind him and instantly something bolted, scrambling against the base of the wall in the blackness. Instinctively, he whirled and dropped into a crouch, finding himself faced with a shivering and frightened Ariel.   
  
She sat with her knees pulled up and her back pressed tightly against the wall, staring at him with fearful, yellow-irised eyes. Slight, vampiric ridges had formed on her face, giving her a more feral appearance.   
  
"Ariel, it's me, Angel." He whispered soothingly, carefully reaching out his hand to her.   
  
After Wesley's warning phonecall, he wasn't sure what to expect. She looked lost and afraid, but vampires were devious and cruel by nature and it could easily be a ruse.   
  
She shrank away from him, cowering against the wall and peering over the tops of her knees at him, "A-Angel?"   
  
At least she recognized him. The wild look in her eyes had made him wonder for a moment whether her reason was still intact.   
  
"Yes, it's me." He nodded, crabbing himself subtly closer, "You remember me, right?"   
  
She nodded slowly, her eyes still wide and locked fearfully on him. Apparently, the darkness was as inconsequential to her vision as it was to his.   
  
"I remember." She answered, sliding slightly along the wall away from him, "You . . . you're a vampire . . . you're a . . . I'm . . . a vampire."   
  
"It's okay, Ariel." He told her, using her name again to reinforce her identity, "There's no need to be afraid."   
  
"You don't think THIS is a reason to be afraid!?!" she cried, lurching forward and exposing tiny, pointed canines in her mouth.   
  
She struck him with wild desperate swings, her small fists flailing at the world as much as at him. The change had made her stronger, almost as strong as he was, but he was easily able to deflect the majority of her unfocused attacks.   
  
After a few moments, she tired and let her arms drop slowly to her sides.   
  
"I don't know who I am anymore." She slumped back against the wall again and slid to the floor, shutting her eyes and clutching her abdomen, "I don't even know WHAT I am."   
  
"It'll be okay." He offered soothingly, taking a crouching half-step forward and then when she didn't seem to protest, another, "Wesley will figure out a way to deal with this. We'll help you."   
  
Her face tightened briefly, then her eyes cracked open and she smiled weakly, her head tilted back and resting against the wall.   
  
"You still want to help me?" she asked in disbelief, "I've been nothing but a king-sized order of trouble for you and you still want to help me."   
  
"Some people find trouble no matter where they go." He shrugged half-jokingly, reaching out to take her by the arms, "Come on, let's get you back to the office."   
  
As he helped her to her feet, the door flew open and banged sharply against the wall. Two men rushed inside while a third trailed close behind. It was Kincaid and his henchmen, one of whom was carrying a long, tube-like device. Kincaid was shirtless, the hard muscles of his upper body coated with fresh blue-tattooed runes, save for a clear section across the upper part of his chest. Only a faint pinkish circle marked the spot where he had been stabbed with the stake.   
  
Ariel shrank back and, instinctively, Angel put himself in front of her. Kincaid noted the protective gesture and his lip curled in disdain.   
  
"I knew I'd find the two of you together, monster." He growled, training the muzzle of a handgun on Angel's heart.   
  
"A bullet's not going to stop me, Christian." He assured the man, preparing to intercept any he might fire at Ariel, "I thought you'd know that by now."   
  
Kincaid sneered and tilted his chin back in challenge.   
  
"Bullets, no, but poisonous darts, yes."   
  
Before he could fire, Ariel dove to her feet and wrapped her arms around Kincaid's gun hand, hauling it to the side as he pulled the trigger. A red-fletched dart skipped of the wall and embedded itself in the floor.   
  
"Get off me half-breed!" Kincaid roared, lifting the girl clean off her feet and slamming his fist into her face.   
  
She squeaked in pain and lost her grip, flying back and dropping hard to the floor.   
  
As Kincaid moved to strike her again, Angel intercepted him, slapping the gun out of his hand and kicking him in the chest. The blow was backed by all the strength he had, but the man barely staggered and fell back. His strength had increased enormously since their last encounter.   
  
Angel chose not to follow him, instead kneeling down quickly next to Ariel.   
  
"You alright?" he asked, keeping his eyes locked cautiously on the other two men as he helped her up into a sitting position.   
  
"Yeah," she responded, gingerly pivoting her jaw, "Now, I'm just mad."   
  
Solomon advanced cautiously with a stake drawn and held close to his body. Ariel pushed past and grabbed onto his arm, easily throwing him over the back of a pristine couch, then dove at Noah. The tall, goateed man struck her with the metal cylinder in his hands, but could not stop her charge. She kicked him in the knee and caught him under the chin with an uppercut as he fell forward.   
  
Angel turned and found Kincaid glaring hatefully at him.   
  
"Guess it's just you and me now." He informed the tattooed man with grim resignation.   
  
Kincaid dove across the floor, reaching for his gun. Angel tackled him, grasping one of his wrists and twisting it sharply behind his back. Christian rolled and shoved him off with incredible strength, launching Angel through the air.   
  
The vampire collided with the corner of the open door and fell to the floor on his knees. Kincaid's fingers had felt like steel and his speed had been blinding, easily double what Angel was capable of. But Angel hadn't been expecting to meet him on even ground. Rising and brushing himself off, he advanced on the tattooed man again.   
  
Behind him, Ariel was still in the midst of battle with both Noah and Solomon.   
  
Noah ducked back from a wild swing and backhanded her across the face with a long-armed swing. The blow hardly affected her, but her face went livid with outrage.   
  
"You jerk!" she shouted, snapping her foot up into his groin and shoving him when he crumpled to his knees, "I can't believe you hit a girl who's, like, half your size!"   
  
Solomon jumped on her from behind, clamping his arms around her torso and lifting her off her feet. She kicked and struggled, but hr held fast.   
  
Angel flew back and hit the wall, holding his stomach. Kincaid's kick had hurt more than he cared to admit, forcing him to reconsider his approach. The runes made Christian nearly unstoppable. Conventional fighting wasn't going to work against him anymore. Fortunately, Angel had come prepared.   
  
Stumbling and holding his midsection, he went to Ariel's aid. Solomon held her aloft, struggling and wrestling with her supernatural strength. Angel thumped a hook punch into his ribs and he immediately released her and sank to the floor with a pained wheeze.   
  
"Thanks." Ariel smiled, pausing to haul Solomon up by his collar and shove him away.   
  
"Get behind me and hold your breath." Angel advised, putting her behind a protectively outstretched arm as he slipped one of the metallic canisters out of the pocket of his coat.   
  
Popping the top off the canister, he hurled it directly into Kincaid's chest as the man charged him. It struck him with a dull clank and immediately started spewing billows of pale, acrid smoke. The thick gas filled the room quickly and both Noah and Solomon fell to their knees in uncontrollable fits of coughing. Kincaid staggered and coughed as well, but kept his feet, squinting through the fog with tearing eyes.   
  
Angel advanced a step toward him, keeping Ariel behind him.   
  
"Are you ready to give up yet, Kincaid?" he asked, readying another tear gas bomb.   
  
"Never." Kincaid sneered, gagging on the yellowish fumes, "Noah! Fire the rocket!"   
  
Angel's head snapped up in time to see the goateed man hoist the tubular device unsteadily up onto his shoulder and take blind aim in his direction. He dropped the tear gas canister and burst into action. Grabbing Ariel by the arm, he desperately threw her behind the cover of the couch and leaped on top of her as an explosive streaked from the muzzle of the launcher and struck the outer wall.   
  
A deafening crack shot through the room, followed half an instant later by a blast of roiling orange fire that roared over the top of the couch. Angel felt the tiny hairs on the back of his hands singe as the heat reached almost unbearable levels and he fully expected to burst into flames himself. But the shockwave continued to sweep past and took the inferno with it within seconds.   
  
Experimentally, he lifted his head and looked over the wreckage of the couch. The explosion had destroyed much of the outer wall and flung the furniture away like it was made of cardboard. Anything flammable that had not already been destroyed burned with bright flames and added to the heavy pall of smoke that had replaced the tear gas. Noah and Solomon both lay clear of the flames against the base of the back wall, Noah impaled by a piece of wooden shrapnel through his shoulder and Solomon apparently just clinging to consciousness. Neither one was a threat any longer. But there was no sign of Kincaid.   
  
"You okay?" he asked Ariel as he rolled off her.   
  
She unplugged her fingers from her ears and sat up, looking stunned with disbelief.   
  
She blew out a tense breath and pushed her hair back out of her face, staring in amazement around the room, "Man, I'm NEVER gonna get my damage deposit back."   
  
Angel wasn't paying attention to her observation as he busied himself with scanning the devastated apartment. The majority of the smoke had cleared out through the gaping, burnt hole in the wall, revealing only a mess of broken rubble bathed in glowing orange, firelight.   
  
"Where is he?" Angel hissed.   
  
"Angel!!" Ariel screamed a warning, but it was too late.   
  
A small prick of pain lanced down his spine from the back of his neck, followed by a dull, numbing sensation. He clapped his hand to the nape of his neck and spun sharply as a wave of disorienting weakness washed through him. Withdrawing his hand, he found a tiny, red-fletched dart pinned between his fingers.   
  
"The poison was meant for her." Kincaid shrugged as he loaded another dart into the pistol, "But the dosage should be enough to put you out of commission for a while. I won't need much time after that."   
  
Angel forced himself to take a step forward. His limbs felt heavy and unresponsive, weak, but he couldn't let Kincaid win. Another step and he collapsed to one knee, willpower alone no longer enough to move him.   
  
Kincaid looked on with amusement as the poison continued to work its way through Angel's body. The vampire crawled toward him on hands and knees, his vision blurring from the effort, but Christian turned away from him, unconcerned.   
  
"No . . ." Angel reached out futilely, but his strength had already been overtaxed and he collapsed.   
  
He could only watch helplessly as Christian slipped the gun back into his coat and drew a hand-sized crossbow. Cocking it and loading an arrow, he approached Ariel with the point trained on her heart, walking with slow, confident steps and an intense focus in his eyes. She stared at him like a frightened animal, cowering and visibly trembling as he neared her.   
  
"You're afraid of me, aren't you?" he smiled darkly, seeming to enjoy her terror, "Well, you ought to be."   
  
She shook her head wordlessly and shrank into a corner, cringing as he closed to within arm's reach. He struck her across the face with a backhanded slap that would have killed a normal human and she stumbled groggily and fell at his feet.   
  
"Come here, you disgusting little bitch!" he growled, seizing a fistful of her hair and hauling to her feet with a yelp of pain.   
  
Forcibly dragging her back toward the center of the room, he jerked her in the direction of Angel's languishing body.   
  
"Look at him!" Kincaid gave her head a wrench and tears sprang to the corners of her ice-blue eyes.   
  
Ariel obeyed, sick with fright as the tattooed man shoved her to her knees, still holding her by the hair.   
  
Angel held her eyes with solemn remorse. She looked so terrified. He tried to speak, but even that was beyond him now. The poison didn't feel like a type that was particularly harmful to vampires and the dose had not been a large one, but he would never be able to shake off the effects in time to rescue Ariel. He was completely unable to help her.   
  
"The Watchers wouldn't listen, you know." Kincaid confided to Angel, assured of his impending victory, "They couldn't see the danger she represented. They even went so far as to protect her in reverence for her mother's years of dedicated service. The fools."   
  
He twisted his fingers in Ariel's dark hair and hauled her head around.   
  
"No one cared about my FATHER'S dedication." He snarled, pressing the point of the crossbow against her chest, "Your father murdered him and all they cared about was keeping you safe. They let one of their own die for the sake of a filthy half-breed. You're going to pay for that."   
  
Ariel jammed her eyes shut and grimaced as Kincaid's finger tightened around the trigger.   
  
Angel felt a strange, sudden wave of terror strike him and an accompanying surge of adrenaline. The focus of the fear was odd, personal. Angel hadn't felt fear for his own sake for a long time. He groaned and forced himself to flop over onto his side, desperately fighting the poison in his system.   
  
"Don't . . . do it . . ." he grunted, too weak to utter more.   
  
Kincaid looked down at him with a disappointed and perplexed frown.   
  
"You shouldn't be able to move at all right now." He shoved Ariel away and cocked an impressed eyebrow at Angel, "I never believed any of the Council's tales about your incredible resilience, but I guess they were right after all, hm?"   
  
Bending down to one knee, he grabbed a fistful of Angel's shirt and lifted him easily with one hand. Eyeing a particularly large collection of burning debris, a cruel smile bent his lips.   
  
"I've always enjoyed burning vampires." He mused, "But I've never had the pleasure of watching one perish at my leisure."   
  
As weakened as he had become, Angel would have no choice but to accept the flames and perish. The fear redoubled, but now it had acquired a strangely detached quality. He brought his hands up and pried feebly at the fingers twisted tightly into his shirt, but Kincaid hit him with an open-handed slap that set his vision swimming. He hung dazed and defenseless, completely at Kincaid's non-existent mercy.   
  
Something moved in the corner of his vision and Ariel was on Kincaid in an instant.   
  
"Leave him alone!" she shrieked, clawing at the man's face.   
  
Kincaid dropped Angel and doubled her up with a solid punch to her midsection. She staggered in pain, but continued to fight, relentlessly backing him away step by step from Angel. Her paralyzing fear of the man had evolved, transforming into a tidal wave of anger.   
  
Angel's own terror changed with hers, filling him with rage, and he felt strength returning to his limbs. Something about Ariel's anger was affecting him, allowing a primal part of him to surface and burn away the debilitating effects of the poison.   
  
His blood surged through him and an unintentional, lion-like growl forced itself out of his throat. Rising into a crouch, he tamped his feet and flexed his muscles into taught readiness, waiting for his opportunity. Kincaid turned and slammed Ariel up against the wall with a frustrated roar and she dropped weakly to her knees. Angel jumped up and snaked an arm around the man's throat from behind, hoping to cut off the blood flow and choke him into unconsciousness. Kincaid lurched back and Angel jerked hard, hanging over his opponent's back.   
  
"Get. Off. Me." Christian choked angrily, backpedaling across the room.   
  
Angel slammed painfully against the opposite wall, pinned by Christian's body, but he held on. Just a minute or so and Kincaid would be out cold, he just had to hold on a little longer. A sharp elbow cracked into his ribs and Angel felt bones breaking from the impact. The wound was of no serious consequence; it would heal quickly, but the sudden burst of pain had caused him to loose his grip and he fell to the floor.   
  
"I realize how you resisted the poison now, vampire." Kincaid spat, turning and driving his foot into Angel's abdomen, "Her tainted blood calls to you, doesn't it?"   
  
Kincaid was right. Twice before since Ariel's arrival, Angel's instincts had risen to the surface, wanting him to drink from her and then presumably to make her like himself. He remembered how uncontrollable the urges had been and realized their source now. As she neared her twenty-first birthday, Ariel's heritage had been calling to him, like the demon inside her demanded to be complete. The change had asserted itself naturally without his intervention, but he could still feel that primal part of him listening to her, reacting to her emotions. Her anger had given him the strength to resist Kincaid's poison to a point, but even in the best of condition, he was no match for Christian's enhanced power.   
  
Angel tried to rise and attack him but Kincaid cracked a hard fist into his spine, driving him back to the floor. Looming over him, he found a splintered piece of wood and readied it for Angel's heart.   
  
A length of iron rebar slammed into Kincaid's temple from the side and he fell to one knee, dropping his weapon.   
  
"I knew I should have killed you first." he hissed angrily, lifting his head and glaring at Ariel.   
  
With a lion-like snarl, she hopped over Angel and hit him again, in the face this time. Even with the power of the runes filling him, Kincaid had his limits and he fell to the violent assault.   
  
"I've been so afraid of you for so long, Kincaid." Ariel growled between sharp, clenched teeth as he raised his arm defensively and she brought the metal bar down over it with both hands, "Well, I'm not going to be afraid anymore!"   
  
He struggled to get away from her, but she jammed the end of the bar against his kidney and knocked him back to the scorched floor. She kept him pinned down, pounding savagely with fevered energy, a wild light in her eyes.   
  
Angel could feel her anger, like heat in the air, and remembered the blind clarity that kind of rage could induce. Underneath it, he could feel something else from her, a taught, quivering rope of unreasoning fright that fed the rage. Kincaid had terrified her, hunting her tirelessly for months until he had caught up with her in LA. Now, it was she who had caught him.   
  
Her eyes glittered murderously as she beat him. All the fear and anger inside her was too much for her to control, it dominated her, driving her to act from desperation. If someone didn't stop her, she would end up doing something she would regret for the rest of her life.   
  
"Ariel, stop!" Angel shouted, rising and circling cautiously so that he was facing her, "Ariel!"   
  
She paused with the twisted metal held high and her eyes snapped up. She panted ferally, her face a mask of flushed rage with droplets of Kincaid's blood splattered across her forehead and cheeks.   
  
"You'll never forgive yourself if you kill him." He told her, reaching out slowly toward her, "Now let him go and give me your hand."   
  
She snarled angrily and her fists tightened until they were trembling around the metal bar. Her eyes still burning with bloodlust, flicking uncertainly to Kincaid's battered form and then back to Angel's offered hand.   
  
"Come on, Ariel." He encouraged, "Just give me your hand."   
  
Kincaid lifted his head and chuckled bitterly.   
  
"She can't, don't you see it?" he wheezed, sitting up weakly and wiping blood from his nose with the back of his hand, "She's a monster, Angelus. Just like you."   
  
Ariel flinched at the remark and snapped her weapon at him, stopping short with the broken end of it wavering just under his chin. One sharp thrust and she could drive it clean into his throat.   
  
"Don't do it, Ariel." Angel cautioned her calmly, edging slightly closer, "He's finished now. You don't have to do this."   
  
Ariel's face tensed and she stared intently at Kincaid, seeming totally unaware of Angel. The vampire took another step closer, readying himself to make a play for the weapon.   
  
Kincaid gripped the end of the bar in his hand and jammed the tip of it against his throat hard enough to draw blood.   
  
"You don't have a choice!" he roared desperately, "Do it! Kill me! Kill me and show the world what you really are! I'll never stop hunting you. The only way to end this is to kill me!"   
  
Angrily, she pressed forward on the metal, drawing more blood, her entire body shaking with a combination of rage and terror. Kincaid seemed absolutely ready to die for his obsession, but still she hesitated.   
  
"What if he's right?" she whispered, her voice tight and tense, "What if I really am a monster?"   
  
Angel gently placed his hand on her shoulder and stepped deliberately into her line of sight, blocking Kincaid from her vision.   
  
"Because a monster wouldn't have the choice." He whispered, nudging her back a half-step.   
  
The haze of bloodlust faded and her grim focus returned to normal. Relaxing visibly, she let her arms sag and lowered the end of her weapon to the floor.   
  
Kincaid rose slowly to his feet, partially healed already by the power of the runes.   
  
"No." he muttered in denial, "She's a monster! She has to die! I'll never stop hunting you, monster! Never!"   
  
Christian glared at her with naked hatred, the whites of his eyes wide and bloodshot. Looking first to Angel and then back to her, he bolted for the gaping hole in the wall and dove through, plunging, screaming to the ground below.   
  
"I'm not a monster." Ariel whispered quietly, her jaw trembling as she dropped the bar to the floor with a dull clang.   
  
Latching onto Angel's chest, she burst into a torrent of uncontrolled tears. He held her and rocked her with gentle patience as she released the pent up feelings inside her. As her pain drained away, he felt a vague sense of serenity return to his own being, an echo of her heartfelt relief.   
  
After a minute, she lifted her head and wiped her cheeks. The ridges on her face had receded and her eyes were back to their original ice-blue. She had conquered her inner demon.   
  
"Thanks." She smiled weakly, rubbing her nose then at the tear marks on his shoulder, "I'm sorry for, um, getting your coat all full of snot and stuff. Must be some of that tear gas still floatin' around."   
  
"It's okay." He assured her, "I'll have to take it to the cleaners to get the smoke smell out anyway."   
  
She smiled appreciatively and tucked her hair back behind her ears. Outside, the first police cars and fire trucks were starting to arrive, dull flashes of red and blue dancing against the ceiling alongside the flickering firelight.   
  
"We better go." He gestured toward where Noah and Solomon were slumped against the wall, "The police will take care of them."   
  
With a silent nod, she followed him into the hallway, pausing only long enough to close the door behind her.   
  
* * *   
  
Wesley stood next to Angel as the vampire stared at the dark night horizon. Imperceptible to human eyes, the very beginnings of the approaching dawn would just be visible to him at this hour. Ariel and Cordelia talked amongst themselves in the kitchen, their muffled voices the only sound in the quiet stillness of Angel's apartment. The Englishman shifted stiffly, stretching the fresh bandage on his throat as he attempted to intrude on his employer's silent reverie.   
  
"Ariel appears to be getting on, well enough now." he commented conversationally, "Whatever you did for her seems to have helped."   
  
"I didn't do anything." Angel inclined his head slightly, his eyes still locked on the horizon, "She'll be okay now, I think. The first rush is over. The instincts are easier to control, but it's still no picnic."   
  
"Will she need help?"   
  
"She can stay here." the vampire nodded softly, "I'll help her as much as I can, but she's going to have to learn to live with it for the rest of her life. The cravings won't ever just go away. They'll always be there, under the surface."   
  
Wesley stepped to the side and looked at Angel's profile.   
  
"It's not easy for you sometimes, is it?" he realized aloud.   
  
"I survive." Angel answered stoically, "It's part of who I am, Wesley. And now it's part of her, too. Hopefully, I'll be able to teach her how to adapt and still keep some sort of normal life."   
  
The phone rang and Angel closed the drapes over tightly before quickly going to answer it. Wesley watched him for a moment then strolled back into the kitchen. Cordelia sat at one end of the table, eating from a half-full plate of scrambled eggs and sliced vegetables. Ariel sat in the chair across from her with her feet tucked under her thighs and an empty plate in front of her.   
  
Wesley pulled out the chair and cautiously lowered himself into it, careful not to strain his wounded neck.   
  
"I can't believe she beat you up." Cordelia snickered across the table at him.   
  
"What?" he blurted in surprise.   
  
"Well, I mean, look at her." Cordelia gestured exaggeratedly to the other girl, "She's like a smurf in platform shoes. If I was a guy and she did that to me, I'd never show my face again. You might as well hang up your testosterone and go drag."   
  
"Yeah, look, about that, Wes." Ariel interjected, "I'm sorry if I hurt you. It was kind of an accident if you can believe that."   
  
Wesley raised the flat of his palm and shook he head as much as he could without disturbing the bandage.   
  
"No need to apologize." He reassured her, "I realize that you weren't in your proper mind."   
  
Ariel nodded, tapping her fork thoughtfully against her palm.   
  
"All those months Kincaid was hunting me, he kept telling me I was a monster, that I deserved to die. When the change hit me, I wasn't so sure he was wrong anymore."   
  
"But he WAS wrong." Wesley offered supportively, "You proved that when you spared his life."   
  
"It's weird, you know." She speared a piece of egg off Cordelia's plate and sniffed it before setting it aside with a distasteful face, "I'm still the same person, but I feel totally different now. I'm not dead, but I don't think I'm really alive anymore, either. At least my face went back to normal."   
  
Wesley understood what she meant. The transformation had left her mortality behind, but her future promised to follow an entirely different road than that of a full-blooded vampire. As the first of her kind, the coming days and weeks would prove to be a learning experience for everyone involved.   
  
"Hey, great, so you're not going to go around scaring the life out of people." Cordelia mentioned around a forkful of eggs as she reached for the pepper and shook a small amount over her plate, "That's always a plus."   
  
Angel returned and leaned against the archway leading into the kitchen.   
  
"That was Kate on the phone." He announced, "She said the night shift picked up Noah and Solomon."   
  
Wesley stiffly turned his entire body around to face Angel.   
  
"What about Christian?"   
  
"I asked," Angel shook his head gravely, "but she said there was no sign of him."   
  
"You don't think he'll be back, do you?" Wesley asked, aghast, shooting an unintentional worried glance toward Ariel.   
  
"She really did knock you senseless, didn't she?" Cordy snorted, "That ink-freak took a ten story nose-dive. Can you say 'pancake'? Oh, hey, pancakes would be great right now."   
  
She looked beseechingly to Angel while Wesley regarded her with a perplexed expression.   
  
"Such a tragic ending." He noted absently, adjusting his glasses, "In his hatred of vampires, he mortgaged off portions of his own humanity until it obviously drove him mad. In the end, he became worse than what he hated."   
  
He paused and cleared his throat uncomfortably, looking sheepishly to both Angel and Ariel.   
  
"Present company excepted, of course."   
  
"Of course." Angel agreed with a tilt of his head and the hint of a smile.   
  
"Yeah, no problem, Wes." Ariel agreed.   
  
Cordelia finished off her eggs and wiped her hands perfunctorily with a napkin, rising from her chair.   
  
"Tragedy or not, the guy gave me the creeps." she shrugged with a tired yawn, "I'm glad he's gone."   
  
Angel glanced to the window and the light of the approaching dawn as it warmed the thick curtains.   
  
"I hope you're right." He murmured, turning away from the window.   
  
Cordelia, Wesley and Ariel all nodded softly in silent accord.   
  
* * *   
  
Christian Kincaid crouched in the cold, damp darkness of the sewer tunnel, shivering and murmuring to himself under his breath. The fall had hurt him, almost left him crippled, but he had survived and soon he would be rejuvenated again. In one trembling hand, he gripped a small vial of blue liquid, dipping the tip of a sharp, silver tine into it with the other. Pressing the tine against the skin of his chest, he traced the outline of a magical symbol. He clenched his jaw as the magical ink sank beneath the surface with a faint sizzle and, unintentionally, he cut into himself. His chest was covered in similar markings, both cuts and sigils.   
  
"I'll destroy them." He muttered quietly, "All the vampires."   
  
Yes, destroy them. It was the only way. It was up to him to preserve the last measure of humanity. He grinned, giggling madly as he dipped the tine again and applied another rune.   
  
The sound of a boot scrunching a pebble grated through the empty passageway, echoing off the concrete walls. Kincaid started nervously, his eyes wide and blind in the darkness.   
  
"W-who's there?" he stammered, "Show yourself!"   
  
No one answered him for long seconds, the only sounds he heard were the tense shuddering of his own breath and the distant echo of dripping water. He waited suspiciously, as chill sweat gathered on his brow and crawled in quivering drops down his temples. Still, nothing answered.   
  
Perhaps he had imagined it. The power of the runes had been affecting him in strange ways, playing tricks with his mind sometimes lately. Yes, it must have been his imagination.   
  
Something cold and hard whipped around his neck and drew tight. Kincaid lurched to his feet and pawed at the chain encircling his throat, choking and gagging. A sharp jerk on the chain took him forcefully off his feet and dragged him across the muck-encrusted floor on his chest.   
  
Were he at full strength, he could have easily snapped it, but his power was preoccupied with healing and his newest runes had not had time to set. He was defenseless.   
  
Kincaid twisted his body around so he could look up at his attacker. A tall woman vampire with shaggy golden hair and piercing green eyes stared down at him, a wide, bloodthirsty smile on her lips.   
  
"No." he breathed fearfully, shaking his head in denial, "Not you. No!"   
  
Sasha chuckled evilly and hauled upward on the chain, pulling his body taught.   
  
"Oh, but it is." She laughed bitingly as he choked, "You didn't think I'd forget you now, did you?"   
  
She twisted the links of the chain idly in her fists, tightening it around his throat so that Kincaid could only answer her with a strangled cough. Crouching down, she met his gaze with dark intensity.   
  
"Do you know that you destroyed the last of this city's clan leaders?" She demanded seethingly, giving the taut chain a shake, "You killed Dorian. He was going to unite them and you killed him."   
  
Christian worked his fingers between the chain and his throat, allowing himself enough air to speak.   
  
"I'll kill you, too. Just like him." He rasped, swallowing hard, "I'm glad I ruined his plan."   
  
Sasha jerked again on the chain and rose on the balls of her feet with a burst of haughty laughter.   
  
"Oh, Dorian's plan hasn't been ruined." She revealed knowingly, "Only modified."   
  
More than two dozen vampires of various ages, races and backgrounds appeared out of the darkness and flanked her supportively.   
  
"There's only one clan now, bloodbag." She sneered, "My clan."   
  
Her vampire followers spread out, encircling him greedily like hyenas at a kill. She let the chain drop, loosening its hold around Christian's neck.   
  
"Welcome to my coronation feast."   
  
As one, the members of LA's new, united clan fell upon a defenseless Kincaid and devoured him while his horrified shrieks echoed deafeningly off the sewer walls.   



End file.
